


Asylum

by Spongyllama



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Female Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Girl Power, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-04-11 01:28:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 115,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4415864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spongyllama/pseuds/Spongyllama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anakin, taken hostage by the Sith. Grievous, captured by the Republic. When Padmé refuses Dooku’s offer of prisoner exchange, Anakin appears to be lost for good. One year later, a mysterious Jedi-killer called Vader appears. AU starting from TCW episode “Shadow Warrior.” Inspired by Captain America 2: The Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Start Over

**Author's Note:**

> Before we begin I'd like to say that some future chapters may have triggering material, and I will give appropriate warnings at the beginning of those particular chapters. Please read the notes!  
> I do not own anything in this fanfiction. Star Wars belongs Lucasfilm Ltd. under the Walt Disney Company. This story is made for entertainment purposes only.  
> Enjoy!

_“I could be persuaded to return Skywalker to you in exchange for General Grievous...I’m sure you will make the right choice.”_

That was what Dooku had said. The words rang like a bell through Padmé’s mind over and over. The right choice. What was that, exactly? Save Anakin, versus what, abandon him to his death? Release Grievous, versus handing him to the Republic so that this awful war might end a little bit sooner?

Padmé pressed a hand to her eyes. She had forty minutes left to decide. She sat in a remote corner of Otoh Gunga, the Gungun capital inside Lake Paonga. The lake was spacious, and would have been beautiful at any other time, but now it felt like it was pressing in on her, like the hydrostatic shield of the city walls would crack and she would drown. She opened her eyes and looked out at the dark water.

Give up Grievous, the mass killing machine who slaughtered civilians by the thousands, who invaded planets with his droids to take lives and resources and freedom?

Or give up Anakin, the one who without fail charged after Grievous and saved planets, liberated innocent people, put his own safety on hold for the sake of others? The Jedi’s chosen savior, the hero, the friend and master and husband. _Her_ husband.

She looked at her chrono. Thirty-eight minutes left.

Slowly, like she was moving through the lake water outside the city, she fumbled at her communicator and contacted someone who she prayed would know what to do.

Queen Neeyutnee had been waiting for an update, and Padmé gave her one, explaining the situation. She tried to keep her distress from sounding too obvious. When it was done, the queen looked thoughtful behind her makeup.

“General Skywalker is a hero to the Naboo,” Neeyutnee said thoughtfully. “And I know he is your close friend. But you know better than anyone on Naboo how greatly the capture of General Grievous could shift the war. I do not envy you your decision, Senator.”

Padmé frowned. “What do you think I should do?”

The queen looked thoughtful. “The Naboo strive for compassion. Giving up someone for a trade like this is not an easy task, especially someone who has brought so much good to our planet and others. But I must point out that removing Grievous from the equation could help lessen the suffering of all people in the galaxy. You know as well as I do, Senator, that our people are starving, poor, and cold.” Neeyutnee looked sympathetically at Padmé. “I am sorry to ask you to make this choice alone, Senator, but I will trust whatever decision you make.”

Padmé looked down. “Thank you, your majesty.”

The call ended, and Padmé checked the time. Thirty-one minutes before Dooku’s offer expired.

She paced. Across the room, and back. Across, and back. Deep breaths. Breathe. Breathe. Check the time. Twenty-nine minutes. Her heart was pounding. Her hands were sweating. Breathe.

She looked down at the communicator and froze. _Just activate it_ , she told herself. It didn’t work. She took a deep breath. Then another. Then another. Then, she activated it and contacted a Gungun chief who had a Republic cruiser on standby communications. Twenty-five minutes.

The flickering figure of an officer appeared before her. Urgently and in a pathetically shaky voice, she said, “Hello, yes, this is Senator Padmé Amidala, calling from Naboo. I need immediate clone assistance to Naboo. My people have managed to capture General Grievous and we need to remove him from the planet before the Separatists can launch a strike to retrieve him. I repeat, I need troops here as soon as possible.”

* * *

Three minutes left, and Padmé stared down at the communicator like her eyes were glued to it. For a while, she couldn’t move. Then, she activated Anakin’s commlink channel. Dooku’s thin face smirked at her as if he knew already that he had won. Padmé supposed that, in a way, either option was a win for him and a loss for her.

“Senator Amidala, you have certainly taken your time. You have made your decision?”

She had on her senator face. Strong, stoic, fake but genuine at the same time. “I have. I regret to inform you that the Republic will not be accepting your offer for prisoner exchange at this time.”

Dooku looked taken aback. He motioned at two of the MagnaGuards standing behind him. Padmé could hear Anakin’s agonized screams as surely as if she were in the room with him. She forced herself not to react. Dooku said, “Are you sure, Senator? I shudder to think what will happen to young Skywalker should you refuse.”

Padmé looked at the holographic figure of her husband, hanging limply and shaking violently. She didn’t remotely understand how the Force worked, but she willed him to hear her now through it: _I’m so sorry, Ani. Please forgive me._ Aloud, she said, “So do I,” and shut off the comm.

Her stoic senator face shattered and she fell to her knees, crying.

* * *

Grievous had been transported by the Gunguns to Otoh Gunga, the most secure location possible until the Republic arrived. He was guarded by the majority of the Gungun army, which was divided between the interior and exterior of the city shields. Padmé waited at a comm table for the clones to arrive. She had one more call to make. It surprised her to realize she dreaded this one more than the call with Dooku.

The holographic figures of half the Jedi Council – she supposed whichever members were on Coruscant at the time – appeared, standing around the table. Padmé tried very hard not to look at Obi-Wan.

“Senator Amidala,” Mace Windu said. He frowned. “Where is General Skywalker?”

She looked down, suddenly ashamed. Trying to be brave, knowing they could probably see right through her, she reported how the Gungun minister Rish Loo had been working with Count Dooku to manipulate the Gunguns into going to war with the Naboo, and how the Gungun army had managed to capture General Grievous by deactivating the droids that had arrived with him.

Padmé stared at them head-on. “General Skywalker went chasing after Rish Loo and tracked him down to discover that Count Dooku was hiding somewhere on the planet. Count Dooku then managed to capture General Skywalker.” She tried to clear her throat, which was suddenly thick with emotion she couldn’t dismiss. “Count Dooku offered me a prisoner exchange and – I refused.”

She risked a glance at Obi-Wan: he was staring at her, crestfallen. She prayed he would forgive her. She certainly wasn’t sure if she would forgive herself.

Master Yoda spoke. “Regrettable, it is, that forced to make this decision were you. Spoken with us first, perhaps you should have, hm.”

“I’m sorry,” Padmé said. She meant it.

“Nonetheless, a decision you have made. Secure, is Grievous?”

Padmé nodded. “I contacted a battle cruiser. They should be arriving to take Grievous back to Coruscant within a few minutes. Grievous is being held here in the underwater city, guarded by the entire Gungun army.”

“Return with him to Coruscant, you should. Good for the Republic, this will be.”

“And what of Skywalker?” Windu asked him. “Are we to leave him with Count Dooku?”

Yoda, admittedly, looked almost sad. “Try to recapture Grievous, the Separatists will. Do the same for Skywalker, we must, at the first opportunity.” Yoda then blinked up at her. “Mourn not for Skywalker, Senator. Lost, he is not. An opportunity to end the war sooner, the Force has given us. Give us another opportunity to save Skywalker, it will. Feel this, I do.”

Padmé was almost comforted by that. Almost. “Thank you, Master Yoda.”

“May the Force be with you,” he said. The call ended, but not before Padmé could glance once more at Obi-Wan, who had his hand on his beard and looked pensive. As his image flickered out, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had just lost _two_ of her friends.

* * *

The Gunguns brought Grievous to the surface of Lake Paonga and handed him over to the clones, who secured him aboard a gunship. Saying goodbye to Jar Jar, who looked positively downtrodden at the prospect of losing Anakin, Padmé accompanied the clones to their main cruiser. As she watched her homeworld shrink through the viewports, one of the clones reported three Separatist ships exiting hyperspace. That wasn’t what scared her; she had been in space battles before. But suddenly, she was afraid that Grievous would be retaken and Anakin would still be in the hands of Dooku and she will have singlehandedly sent the galaxy to its doom.

Naboo fighters flew into space with them to provide the Republic ships with a chance to break through the Separatist defenses. It wasn’t like twelve years ago this time, though, when they had been a single yacht against the entire blockade – this time, the clone pilots navigated expertly through oncoming droid ships as if this were little more than a practice run. Some of the escort gunships alongside them were destroyed, but it didn’t take long for her gunship to dock in a main hangar and for the cruiser to enter hyperspace.

Padmé had sought to keep the war away from Naboo. Maybe she ended up bringing it there instead.

* * *

Grievous was safely placed in the highest security military facility on Coruscant, guarded by a hundred clones and two Jedi Masters with several battalions of troops on standby. Padmé went home, exhausted and upset, and collapsed on her couch. She lay there long into the night, looking at the city lights and praying to the Goddess of Safety that her Anakin would be all right.

* * *

Count Dooku knelt before the tall hologram of his master.

“Forgive me, my Lord. We have lost General Grievous.”

“This is most unfortunate,” Darth Sidious said. “And a costly error. Grievous was a necessary part of my plan for the Clone War. You have failed me, Lord Tyranus.”

Dooku felt the unmistakable feeling of the Force around his windpipe. Not enough to kill him, not now – just a warning, this time.

“Still,” Sidious said, releasing him. Dooku choked and gasped for breath. “This could play to our advantage. As long as we have Skywalker, we hold the one person in the galaxy strongest in the Force.” His master paused for a long time, considering something. “Transport Skywalker to a secure location out of the Jedi’s sight. Then come to Coruscant. It is time I reveal to you the next part of my plan.”


	2. Killer Queen

Padmé entered the Supreme Chancellor’s office flanked by Dormé and Captain Typho. She had changed into her favorite Senatorial gown – might as well look her best while she felt her worst – and walked with her head held high.

The Chancellor sat behind his desk next to Mas Amedda. Before him stood Bail Organa and several Jedi – Masters Yoda, Windu, Mundi. Obi-Wan stood with them, and Ahsoka off to the side. She had her arms folded across her chest, looking very much like a teenager who felt she did not belong. When Padmé caught her glance, Ahsoka avoided her eyes.

“Senator Amidala!” Chancellor Palpatine said, standing to welcome her. “I am so glad to see you made it back safely.”

Padmé forced a smile as everyone turned to her. “Thank you, Chancellor, although instead I feel we should be glad to see that Naboo is safe from another war and that Grievous can no longer do any harm.”

“But of course, my dear,” he said kindly. “I will always sleep better knowing that my homeworld is safe. And you should be commemorated on your successful capture of Grievous. It’s just a shame it had to come at such a price.”

_Stay calm, stoic. Not a big deal. It was just her secret husband, after all._ “I hardly did anything – it was the Gunguns who captured him.” She turned to the Jedi. “What will become of Grievous? And – is there any word on General Skywalker?” she added hesitantly.

“We had Grievous transported to the highest security facility on Coruscant,” Mace Windu said. “He’s being guarded by two Jedi and a hundred clones. There are several cruisers standing by outside, although it’s doubtful the Separatists would attack Coruscant directly to get him back. He won’t be going anywhere.”

“Find young Skywalker in time, we will,” Yoda said, looking up at her gravely. “Eyes and ears the Jedi have everywhere.” Padmé nodded in submission.

“Do we know precisely what is going to be done with Grievous?” Bail Organa asked the Jedi, but Palpatine responded instead.

“I’m afraid Grievous’s fate is no longer a Jedi matter,” he said, placing the tips of his fingers together. “It will have to be up to the Senate to decide what happens to him if we are to continue upholding the principles of our democracy.” In the corner of her eye, Padmé saw Ahsoka fidgeting, restless, and she could see why: whenever anything passed out of the control of the Jedi, bad things seemed to happen.

“The issue will go before the Senate in a few days’ time,” Palpatine continued. He looked at Bail and Padmé. “We will have to leave it until then.” He stood; a dismissal. Padmé followed the Jedi out of the office and paused with Obi-Wan in the antechamber. Ahsoka lingered off to the side, staring hard at the ground.

Obi-Wan touched her lightly on the arm. “Anakin will be all right, Padmé. We’ll find him.” He didn’t look reassured.

All she could say was, “I’m sorry.” She looked at Ahsoka. “To both of you.”

Ahsoka looked hard at her. Padmé could see hurt in her eyes, and couldn’t blame her for it. Anakin was her master, and her friend, after all. They were like family. They just didn’t know that Anakin was her family, too.

The Padawan looked at Obi-Wan. “Master Kenobi, shouldn’t the Jedi be in charge of Grievous’s fate? We are in charge of the military, after all, and he’s a prisoner of war.”

Obi-Wan put his hand to his beard. “The Council isn’t fond of the arrangement either, I’m afraid, but we’ve been given little choice.”

“But he’s a serial Jedi killer!” Ahsoka exclaimed. “He should be dealt with by us!”

“I don’t disagree, Ahsoka, but it’s out of our hands. We are simply going to have to be patient.” Ahsoka sighed impatiently, turning away. Obi-Wan briefly shared a glance with Padmé and said, “We should be heading back. Take care of yourself, Senator.”

She could hardly muster a farewell smile as she watched them leave.

* * *

The Grand Convocation Chamber of the Senate was enormous, and it often made Padmé feel very, very small. Normally, she could keep her cool, even when she spoke publically and knew, in the back of her mind, that her face was plastered across holoscreens across the Republic. Now, though, it felt like every set of eyes was fastened to her, and whether it was in scrutiny or in praise made little difference to her nerves. Walking through the corridors of the Senate Building from her office to the Naboo repulsorpod she had gotten no less than eighteen congratulations on helping to capture General Grievous. She had politely thanked each and every one, of course, but by the time she was sitting in her seat in the huge chamber all she could think was, _at what cost?_

When the Chancellor spoke, his voice echoed through the loud speakers of the chamber and through the individual speakers on each pod. “The emergency meeting of this congress is now called into session. We have called you all here today to discuss the fate of General Grievous, who was captured by the Republic just one week ago on Naboo. Grievous, as we all know, is one of the greatest individual threats to the Republic in any of our lifetimes. He has laid waste to countless civilizations, planets, and communities across the galaxy in the last year alone. We are gathered now to hear different motions about options regarding Grievous’s fate.”

Immediately, Lott Dod of the Trade Federation pushed his pod forward. “I suggest we keep Grievous alive. If we could get him to talk he could provide valuable information to the Republic.”

Ask Aak of Malastare likewise flew his pod into the center. “I disagree – Grievous must be executed. If he is kept alive, the Separatists could gather their forces for an attack on Coruscant the likes of which we could not imagine.”

“They could not possibly recapture Grievous,” Orn Free Taa proclaimed. “He’s being guarded by hundreds of clones, as well as Jedi!”

Shouts came from Senators all around.

“The Jedi have never managed to hold Grievous before. What makes us so sure they could do it now?”

“Grievous must be executed!”

“Let him burn!”

_Duty calls._ Padmé took a deep breath and pushed her pod forward. “Should we not consider the moral side to this?” she said, listening to her voice echo. “I agree that Grievous must pay for his crimes, but he is a prisoner of war. Executing him would be immoral, and unjust!”

As usual, she heard familiar cries berating her, denouncing her as a traitor. She pressed her lips tight together. The insults, the denunciations, they had always hurt and she expected they always would, but she would not abandon her morals to suit the public norm and she would use her voice to speak out for as long as she had it.

“He cannot be kept alive!” Ask Aak cried. “As long as he lives, he is a threat. He _must_ be executed.”

“If he must be killed, why don’t we do it with a show?” Lott Dod suggested, apparently switching sides. “Let us do it and air it on the HoloNet to raise morale for the war effort!”

Padmé felt sick at the thought. Displaying the death of the enemy commander for all Republic citizens to witness? Was that what the Republic had become? She couldn’t pretend to be surprised, though, when Senator Dod’s suggestion amassed shouts of agreement and applause. It was business as usual in the Senate.

“Order!” Mas Amedda shouted. “We shall commence the vote on the subject of executing General Grievous. Please enter your votes now.”

Padmé glanced down at her pod’s viewscreen. With an uncanny feeling her vote would be lost in the minority, she pressed the ‘not in favor’ key.

A few minutes later, Mas Amedda spoke again. “The votes are in. General Grievous shall be executed in two days’ time at twelve hundred hours.”

Padmé sat in her pod and shook her head in dismay. The Republic – _her_ Republic – was crumbling more and more every day, and she was powerless to stop it.

* * *

“I don’t like the idea of executing Grievous publicly,” Padmé said, welcoming Obi-Wan and Ahsoka in to her apartment. She was glad to see them, but if she had to admit it, she wasn’t sure she had enough energy to host anyone. The haunting image of Anakin being tortured on the comm haunted her every moment. “It feels a little too barbaric. Is this really the type of Republic that we’ve become?”

“He does deserve it,” Ahsoka said casually, sitting. She continued to avoid Padmé’s glance and folded her arms across her chest as if in the only form of protest she could make. “He’s a _monster_.”

“He is that,” Obi-Wan said. _He_ just looked tired. Padmé wondered if he had been sleeping this past week. She certainly hadn’t. “I’m not too fond of this either, Padmé, but we will certainly be better off once he’s dead.”

Padmé sat next to them, shaking her head. “It just disturbs me that people will only feel comforted when they see his blood on the wall,” she said.

“I don’t think he has any blood,” Ahsoka mumbled.

Padmé smiled. “I meant it as a figure of speech.” She fiddled with the holoprojector until the Republic HoloNet logo appeared.

Obi-Wan looked at them both wryly. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now other than let it happen.”

They waited for a time, mostly in a slightly uncomfortable silence pierced occasionally by light conversation. Finally, the Republic symbol vanished and a hologram of the Chancellor appeared. He stood at a grandiose podium in his usual crimson formalwear. He did not look at all disturbed by what he was about to introduce. “Greetings, citizens of the Republic, and thank you for tuning in to the HoloNet today.

“For almost two years General Grievous, commander of the Separatist Droid Army, has terrorized planets scattered throughout the galaxy regardless of whether those planets had maintained their loyalty to our Republic or not. For him, this was never a political issue. Grievous is a monster who found pleasure in the suffering of the masses. Today, we are here to finally see the end of this terrible threat to life itself.”

Palpatine opened his arms. “The Senate has chosen to broadcast this publicly so that it may be sent as a message of hope to the citizens of the Republic that this war will not continue to be waged endlessly. Let us all hope as one single unit that the clone troopers and Jedi who nobly serve the Republic can put an end to this terrible conflict as soon as is possible. Let us also continue to be brave and do what we can to help those in need  and those whose lives have been made harder by those leading the Confederacy of Independent Systems.

“And now, I turn the cameras over so that we may see the end of General Grievous.” The image on the flat projection screen shifted to show a large arena-like room that looked to be part of a military facility. The cyborg general was being marched in at blasterpoint. His arms were secured to his body to stop him from lashing out. His claw-like feet were tied together by a rope of energy so that his steps were small and limited in mobility; given his reputation for running away and his physical – mechanical – strength, Padmé wasn’t surprised at the restraints. His chest plate had been pulled open, and she could barely make out a beating heart beneath it. She wondered again why anyone felt this was necessary.

“Why do I feel so nervous?” Ahsoka said, watching the clones march in single file and line up. “I feel a sense of...foreboding, almost.”

“I sense it too,” Obi-Wan frowned. Padmé saw him raise his hand to his beard. She looked back at the screen.

A dozen clones raised their blasters in perfect unison and took aim at Grievous’s heart. Off-screen, a Republic military official began to count down from ten. Grievous, limited as his movement was, appeared to be looking around for an escape even though there were clones standing by on all sides, ready for any movement.

It was over quickly. Most of the blaster bolts hit Grievous’s heart directly on target. He immediately began to struggle, shaking and writhing for a few seconds. It looked like there was a fire erupting in his head. Then with a clang of metal, he fell and didn’t move again.

Padmé exhaled, leaning back for a moment. She felt numb. Grievous _was_ a monster, and she didn’t exactly feel any sympathy for him at all, but some day the heaviness of the fact that trillions of beings had just united in watching the death of a living being would truly hit her. The holoscreen showed clones lowering their blasters and military officials milling about, and she could tell the show was over. She got up to turn off the screen.

“Do either of you want anything to eat before you go back?” she asked, ever the good host – though personally, the sight she had just seen had ruined her appetite for the rest of the day. Suddenly, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka’s expressions both froze and she looked back at the screen to see what they were staring at.

She gasped. The hexagonal symbol of the Separatist Alliance rotated in circles on the screen. Ahsoka turned to Obi-Wan and said, “Do you think there’s been an attack?” Obi-Wan frowned, waiting. The screen went fuzzy for a moment and then the gaunt, elderly figure of Count Dooku appeared. He was standing at a podium calmly, mirroring Palpatine from barely five minutes ago.

“It has been brought to my attention that the Republic has seen it fitting to take General Grievous, who was no more dangerous a military commander than any of the hundreds of Jedi Knights that have been waging war on my people, and parade his death throughout the galaxy as if he were a trophy. The Republic, by doing this, has demonstrated to me that it is just as corrupt and bloodthirsty as I had thought. It is because of this action against my general that I found it suitable to hack into the Republic HoloNet to display a certain showing of my own.

“I do not want the citizens of the Republic to think that the death of Grievous is a victory for them. Although the Republic may have gotten their hands on what they considered the greatest threat to their safety, it happens that I, too, can make the same claim. I happen to have in my custody one of the greatest threats, as I and many of my compatriots see it, to the Confederacy of Independent Systems.”

Padmé’s eyes widened. _No. Oh, please no._

Dooku gestured to his right. “Please welcome Jedi General Anakin Skywalker.”

“No!” Padmé exclaimed aloud, and she realized that Ahsoka had shouted it too, jumping up from the couch as if there was something she could do to stop what was about to happen. Obi-Wan sat stricken in between them.

The holocam moved to Dooku’s right and focused on Anakin. He was kneeling on the ground between two super battle droids, his hands bound together behind his back and his head drooping. He looked disheveled, his hair messy, but she knew him anywhere. Padmé recalled with clarity the sound of his screams through the hologram as Dooku had his MagnaGuards electrocute him. She wondered how much more of that Anakin had had to endure between then and now. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“I realize that General Skywalker may feel like a personal hero to many in the Republic, so it is most unfortunate we must go through with this,” Dooku was saying. “Indeed, it only seems fitting that we go about his execution the way the Republic saw fit to execute my general – publically. However, I would like to point out that while the Republic felt the need to use a dozen clones to kill an unarmed prisoner, I am very aware that it only takes one droid to kill a Jedi.”

One of the super battle droids loosened its arm and aimed the blaster installed in it at Anakin’s back while the other droid took hold of his hair and yanked his head up so that the audience could see his face. He was breathing heavily; his eyes were unfocused and he looked confused, or – drugged. It looked as though he didn’t know what was going on around him. Padmé saw him close his eyes, waiting for it.

The blaster bolt hit him straight in the back. The super battle droid released his hair and he fell to the ground, not moving, wisps of smoke rising from his body.

The screen redirected to Dooku, who said with a mutely vicious smile, “Thank you for your attention.” The screen went black.

It was over so fast, like it hadn’t even happened. For a long but also brief moment, Padmé was convinced that she had made it all up. That an unpleasant part of her mind was playing tricks on her to tell her _you deserve to feel bad for what you did._ But when she slumped back in her seat and turned sideways to stare, dumbfounded, at Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, Padmé got the very distinct feeling that her husband _had_ , in fact, just been murdered for the eyes of literally trillions of beings to see.

She watched, unfeeling, as Ahsoka fell to her knees, staring wide-eyed at the floor, and as Obi-Wan released a shaky breath, placing a trembling hand to his forehead. A moment later, he jumped from his seat and staggered out of the room. Padmé got down on the floor and crawled next to Ahsoka to put her arm around the young Padawan’s heaving shoulders but Ahsoka flinched away, stood up, and left Padmé alone.

This was all her fault.

All of it.

Every little bit.

Her husband –

Anakin –

_Ani –_

_–_ was dead and it was _entirely her fault._

The holoscreen, still on, went back to scheduled programming as if nothing was wrong. Padmé sat alone and in a daze, staring blankly ahead. She wondered why she wasn’t sad. She felt everything and nothing at the same time.

After what felt like a lifetime, though it must have only been an hour, Obi-Wan returned. Padmé looked up; his eyes were red and he had his robe pulled closely around himself like a shield. He approached Anakin’s Padawan, who was sitting near the edge of Padmé’s veranda looking out into the city skyline as if searching for something. “Ahsoka, we should go.”

If she had had it in her, Padmé would have objected to the notion, furiously rejecting along her usual lines the Jedi’s nonsensical adherence to ignoring their emotions, but she didn’t seem to have the ability to speak and Ahsoka stood up anyway and said a quiet, “Yes, Master,” before following him out the door. Neither of them looked at her once.

Only when they were gone did she allow herself to feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all the kudos and comments! New chapters every two weeks. Next chapter will be Obi-Wan POV. Thank you for reading!


	3. Haunted

The Force itself was screaming in Obi-Wan’s ears. It was idiomatic, of course, because the Force did not, as far as he knew, have vocal chords with which to produce any sort of audible noise. Still, for the sake of using another idiom, the silence was so deafening that something might as well have actually been screaming in his ears. It certainly would have hurt less.

Anakin had been gone from the Force before. They both had. How many times had they been captured? Too many. Usually together. Not this time, though. And this time, Anakin wasn’t gone from the Force. He was just _gone._

He was gone. _Anakin_ was gone _._ Anakin was _never coming back._

And everyone had seen it. Everyone, everywhere. And even if they hadn’t, by now everyone had to know. It must be household knowledge by now that the hero of the Clone War was dead.

But Anakin wasn’t a hero, he was a person. An extraordinary person, to be sure, but still just a human. A man. A _boy._ A boy that Obi-Wan had raised. A boy that Obi-Wan had loved. A boy that Obi-Wan still loved.

Oh _Force_ why hadn’t he ever told Anakin that he loved him?

He leaned over and pressed his forehead to the cool dining table in the kitchen unit. Beside him sat two cups of tea, freshly brewed but getting cold, one for him and one for Anakin, even though he knew. How could he not know? He had seen it with his own eyes. He watched Anakin’s body fall hard on the ground with his own two eyes.

The body. Where was Anakin’s body? What had Dooku done with it? The knots in Obi-Wan’s throat and stomach tightened until he almost couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think about anything else other than Anakin’s lifeless body lying motionless on the ground, smoke rising from the fatal burn on his back. With Qui-Gon there had been a body, something real to burn, a very definite sense of closure, but now there would be nothing, perhaps a memorial if he pushed for it but nothing further because _attachment is forbidden, mourn not for those who pass into the Force._

How could he go on? He had to. Why couldn’t it have been him? It didn’t matter, it was over. But it _did_ matter, because it still hurt. But it _couldn’t_ matter, because he was a Jedi Master and he had a standard that he had to live up to and _who am I trying to fool, Anakin is dead and I’ll never be able to see him or touch him or hear him laugh again and why did I never tell him I loved him?_

Obi-Wan had thought he was prepared for this. He had been preparing for this for eleven years. He wasn’t ready.

The Force was surely going out. Not just that there was an ache from the loss of his Force-bond with Anakin, but everything else seemed a little less bright. The Force’s very own child was prematurely dead and perpetual night was about to fall and Obi-Wan just wished that he could have been with Anakin when it happened.

* * *

Obi-Wan sat slumped in his Council chair, stoic Jedi face nonexistent. It wasn’t as if the other six Masters in this room weren’t keenly aware of his closeness to the most recently deceased Jedi. What would be the point of pretending?

“Meditated on it I have, and felt no sense of young Skywalker. Sure I am that what we witnessed was the truth.” Yoda, to his credit, looked saddened at the idea.

“Do you believe this means he was not the Chosen One after all?” Ki-Adi-Mundi said bluntly.

“I have seen in the past that Skywalker was directly linked to the Force and to the Clone War. I still believe this to be the case, even if he has passed into the Force,” Mace Windu said. Obi-Wan felt a distinct threat of nausea in his throat. “If the death of Grievous leads to a quicker end to the war, it is possible that balance will still be brought to the Force and the Sith eventually destroyed.”

“But we have always assumed Skywalker would be the one to destroy the Sith himself,” Plo Koon added thoughtfully.

“Ah, assume things we must not,” Yoda said. “Never assume anything, should we, when the veil of the dark side is this thick. Lost, the war is not. Still, advantage of Grievous’s death we must take. Clumsy, we cannot be, from now until the end of the war.”

“And what of young Padawan Tano?” Mace addressed. “She must be given a new master.”

Obi-Wan put his hand to his beard. Yes, a part of him desperately wanted to take Ahsoka as his own, needed to keep whatever bits of Anakin he had left close to him, but he also wanted her to have the best master she could have and he knew that he would not be that. Not now, not when he felt like the stars had gone out.

“Two options I see,” Master Yoda said, putting his hands together. “Master Kenobi and Master Plo Koon. Know her best, the two of you do. Helpful this will be that she may adjust more quickly to the change. Young, she is. A period of temptation this will be for her.” He hmmed. “Think on this, both of you must, and decide what is best.”

* * *

“You should do it,” Padmé told him later when he went to see her. “I don’t know Master Plo Koon very well, but I think it would be good for you. And her.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “He would be a much better master, I’m sure of it. He’s known her most of her life and has been on the Council much longer than I have.”

“What does that matter?” she asked impatiently. “You’re wise and experienced and you’ve served with her for years. She needs that familiarity right now. She’s probably much more used to your style than his anyway.”

He shook his head, and Padmé sighed. He couldn’t admit to her the reasons why, exactly. He couldn’t bring himself to say that he was terrified of failing Ahsoka the way he had failed Anakin over and over. He didn’t want to admit to her that while Anakin had turned into an excellent Jedi Knight, he could have been so much more if he had had a master who was ready, who knew how to train a Padawan, and who would give him the type of discipline he needed.

He certainly wasn’t going to admit to her that the loss of Anakin had punched a burning hole in his chest where the partially-healed, scabbed-over hole left by Qui-Gon had already been, and that he was childishly terrified of losing anything that he tried to fill that chasm with. Like another Padawan, for example. Perhaps it would be less painful to spend the rest of his life cold and alone.

“I would have thought you knew all there was to know about teenagers by now, Obi-Wan,” she was saying. “Looking back at your last teenaged Padawan, what do you think you should do?” When he didn’t speak, she scolded, frustrated, “You’re avoiding your problems. You’re avoiding the fact that you _have_ problems.”

“And what exactly have you been doing?” he asked her wryly. She pursed her lips, and then sighed again.

“You’re right. I am. But I’m scheduled to make an important speech to the Senate next week and if I _don’t_ avoid my problems, I’m not going to make a very convincing call for peace, am I?”

“I suppose not, no.”

When Padmé looked at him again, it was sympathetically. Obi-Wan had to give her credit: she had some incredible capability to put her own pain on hold for the needs of others. He was ashamed that he apparently needed her help to make him feel better. He hoped she wasn’t being too hard on herself, but he knew better, too.

“Take Ahsoka as your Padawan,” she said gently. “Train her, protect her, even get attached to her. I give you my permission to do so.”

He smiled sadly despite himself. “I wish it were that easy.”

* * *

“The Council has decided who is going to be your new master,” Obi-Wan told Ahsoka the next day. Master Plo had said to him that Obi-Wan was the better choice, at least at this point in time, although Obi-Wan couldn’t bring himself to agree.

She scowled. “It hasn’t even been a week!” Well, at least she was speaking again.

Obi-Wan looked down. “I know.”

“Do any of them have any _feelings?”_

He crossed his arms. “They have a duty to the Republic and to the war, and so do we. The war will not wait until we feel better.”

Ahsoka looked at him incredulously. “My master is _dead_. I don’t _care_ about the war.”

“I know it’s hard, Ahsoka, but –”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I had to watch my master die on a galactic broadcast of the HoloNet without any warning and now the Jedi Council is trying to replace him four days later?”

“Ahsoka –”

“What is wrong with them?” she exclaimed angrily. “I don’t care if I’m not supposed to have these feelings, because I _do_ and they don’t care! They just pretend I’m fine and assume I can move on! Newsflash: I’m _not_ fine!”

“Ahsoka, it’s going to be me.”

She stared hard at him for a long time as if trying to decipher something. Then she turned flat on her heel and stormed away. Obi-Wan tried to pretend it didn’t hurt.

* * *

Dreaming gave him no escape.

The battlefield was covered in bodies, fallen clone after fallen clone. The littered remains of the 501st. Some were torn apart by laser shells, others had a clear-cut hole from a blaster bolt straight through the chest. All were clad in similar white armor with unique blue streaks and designs. All except one: one body was wearing dark browns and blacks and was lying in a crumpled heap like the rest of them.

Obi-Wan ran as fast as he could through the strewn bodies and threw himself on the ground next to Anakin. He pulled his former Padawan onto his lap as if he were made of cracked glass.

“Master...?” Anakin whispered. His blue eyes were bleary and unfocused. There was blood on his pale face and all over his body.

Obi-Wan smoothed his hair and rocked him back and forth. “I’m here, Anakin,” he said soothingly. “It’ll be all right.” He knew it wouldn’t.

“I don’...wanna leave you, Master. I love you...” He watched, frozen, as his old Padawan struggled to hold onto life. A minute later, Anakin’s eyes slid closed and his body relaxed in Obi-Wan’s arms.

He sensed a dark presence and looked up sharply, blinking back the tears in his eyes, and he saw Dooku standing over him. Suddenly, Obi-Wan could feel nothing but a red hot desire to _kill_ his master’s master where he stood. He gingerly lowered Anakin’s body to the ground and ignited his lightsaber while he stood. When he swung at Dooku, the Sith disappeared in a wisp of smoke and Obi-Wan awoke in a cold sweat.

* * *

Something needed to be done about Anakin’s room, he knew. Anakin’s things. Anakin had had a lot of  _things_ , a lot more than he should have had as a Jedi Padawan and Knight, but that was one of the areas that Obi-Wan had been lenient on. Who could keep a former slave child from embracing his own freedom through the owning of possessions? He certainly hadn’t been able to. Yet another failing of him as a Jedi Master.

Still, the moment he finally mustered up the courage to walk through Anakin’s bedroom door, the Force hit him so hard with a sense of _Anakin_ that he collapsed backward into the hall, weeping.

* * *

They went back to war as if nothing had changed. Obi-Wan thought it was a bad idea, that it was much too soon, but he accepted the Council’s order to go to Umbara nonetheless. Ahsoka participated only in the space battle, which Obi-Wan didn’t like either, because he wanted to keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t let her feelings distract her from the task at hand. In the end, though, he was glad, because the looks on his troopers’ faces when they reported Krell’s trick were yet another thing that would be ingrained in his mind for weeks to come.

When he listened to Anakin’s troopers explain what they had done – stealing Umbaran fighters and later rebelling against the traitorous General Krell – he couldn’t help but feel a swell of longing. He had met many clones from many different legions who served under many different generals, but he had never met any as creative, unique, determined, and self-aware as those of the 501st. Anakin had left such an impression on them.

He went back to Coruscant and collapsed on his bed, returning to a vortex of nightmares and despair.

* * *

In some of the dreams, Anakin was already dead. In others, Obi-Wan reached him just in time to see the light fade from his eyes. The injury was different every time – pierced lung, internal bleeding, anything and everything that could go wrong in a warzone. Every single time, Obi-Wan pulled Anakin’s body close to him and let himself cry into Anakin’s hair. Every single time, Obi-Wan looked up and saw Dooku lurking in the shadows and felt an untamable rage to kill the one who had taken Anakin from him. Every single time he would wake up, relieved for it to be over, and then he would remember that Anakin was really dead.

Dreaming about losing Anakin was nothing new, he had had these dreams for years and years, but he had never had them this often, and they had never been this real.

* * *

Obi-Wan stood at the entrance to Alderaan’s Senate repulsorpod and watched Padmé hover toward the center podium. He had gone to check in with Bail Organa when Bail reminded him that Padmé was set to make a call for peace to the Senate.

“Honorable delegates of the Republic,” Padmé’s voice echoed through the many speakers in the Grand Convocation Chamber. She looked regal and calm, though even from here Obi-Wan could sense there was much turmoil she was concealing beneath her public persona.

Speaker Mas Amedda looked at her pod floating towards the center and said, “Senator Amidala of Naboo has the floor.”

“It is well known throughout the Republic that I have often spoken to the Senate as a voice of peace. I am here now to be that voice again. With the loss of General Grievous, the last thing we need is to continue the fighting.” Obi-Wan heard distinct booing, but Padmé showed no acknowledgement. “I realize it’s impossible to abruptly end the bloodshed, but it is _not_ impossible to speak with the Separatists and to try to find a peaceful resolution to this conflict. I believe we have never had a better opportunity than we have now that Grievous is gone.”

She gathered herself. “Some of you may also have heard that I helped secure General Grievous’s capture. I do not pretend to take the credit for this, however. It was the hard work of my people that managed to detain him and keep the Separatists from recapturing him. I am using this as an example to show that my people are not defenseless. We understand fighting when it is a necessity. My planet has seen its fair share of wars. But before we resort to violent conflict, we do everything we can to stop it from going that far.

“In this galaxy, it’s much too late to stop the fighting before it begins. I realize that. But aren’t we all tired of seeing the destruction that this war brings? Don’t we want to put an end to destroying and focus our attention instead on rebuilding? I don’t think any of us want to see any more civilians or clones or—” Obi-Wan heard her voice crack for just a moment. “Or _Jedi_ killed just because we refuse point blank as a Republic to even consider peace as a solution.

“I am not questioning anyone’s love for and devotion to the Republic. I simply believe that many of us have lost sight of what is important: the people. The people who are dying, cold, and starving. The ones who are being hit with the full brunt of the war. The ones that we do not see or think about because we are safe in our Coruscant apartments. Please, remember the _people._ Thank you.”

* * *

“I heard your speech,” Obi-Wan said later that day. Padmé was sitting in her office, looking exhausted. On the outside she still appeared the regal senator, but he knew from the dullness in her eyes and the way she slumped back in her chair that now there was nothing to distract her from, well.... “It was excellent. I can only hope that more people actually listen to you this time.”

“Doubtful,” Padmé said, pulling two glasses and a bottle of Alderaanian wine out of a drawer. “When has anyone ever listened to me?”

“Do not doubt the effect that you have on people who are willing to listen, Padmé. You’ve been a senator for many years now. You clearly must be doing something right.” He took the drink she poured for him and swallowed half of it in one go. It’s flavor was up to the quality of any Alderaanian wine, but it didn’t provide him with the relief he would have liked. “I don’t suppose you have anything stronger than this?”

“Don’t I wish,” Padmé said, leaning back in her chair. “Can Jedi even get drunk?”

Obi-Wan smiled wryly. “If we allow ourselves to be.” He took another drink. “You should keep pushing for peace. One day, maybe enough people will listen and no more Padawans will have to go to war.”

She studied him tiredly. “What’s going on with Ahsoka?”

He exhaled sadly. “I took her as my Padawan, as you suggested. She wasn’t thrilled.”

“She’ll be okay. She’s strong. It will be good for you, being together, you already know each other well.”

He sighed and didn’t say anything.

“Maybe if more people knew Jedi personally they would understand why peace is so important,” Padmé said, daydreaming. “Maybe if they knew the people who were being shipped off to die they would begin to form a different opinion.”

“Well, you were involved from the very start,” he said, pouring more wine. “I’m sure you know I don’t think very highly of politicians by default.”

She snorted. “I’m beginning to agree with you.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, lazily watching the traffic fly by.

“When are you shipping out again?” she asked.

“Probably within the week.”

“Be safe.” She reached her hand across the desk.

He took it and squeezed it briefly. “You too.”

* * *

The dreams weren’t always on the battlefield. Sometimes it was by Anakin’s hospital bed, and Obi-Wan could feel the Force itself collapse before the heart monitor drew a blank line. Sometimes he watched helplessly from the bridge of his flagship as the eye-catching yellow and silver starfighter exploded after being hit in the wrong place from the wrong angle. Each dream concluded with precisely the same outcome: Anakin was dead and Obi-Wan was not.

A sick, masochistic, twisted part of him, the part that regularly snuck up behind him and reminded him that he had danced with the dark side and that there was no escape, was glad for the dreams. As agonizing as they were, as little sleep as he got because of them – they were the only chance he had for seeing Anakin again.

* * *

Obi-Wan didn’t know exactly how Ahsoka managed to find the location of the Zygerrian slave compound, but he had a distinct feeling it had involved some aggressive negotiations on her part. He just knew that when she showed up with Master Plo Koon as backup and liberated him and all the Kiros Togruta, he was incredibly proud of her for not letting her emotions get in the way of the mission.

He began to change his mind, though, when he saw her eyes light up as she watched the compound explode while their gunships left a trail of vapor in the atmosphere. She looked to be on a sort of high, reveling in the destruction of the slavers who had put her people through so much suffering.

They would need to talk about it, Obi-Wan knew. She needed a reminder that the Jedi do not revel in the deaths of others, even if they were evil and cared nothing for the suffering of other living beings. But he was so tired, so weary from bearing the full brunt of slavery, and he knew that Anakin would have felt the exact same way as her had he been here so Obi-Wan let it go for now because who knew when Ahsoka would be happy again?

* * *

Back home on Coruscant Obi-Wan entered their –  _his_ – suite, pulled off his boots and his belt, and stopped before his bedroom door. He paused, and thought for a moment, then turned around and entered Anakin’s room instead.

He was hit with the same blast in the Force of _Anakin_ as before, though it wasn’t as strong, but this time he kept his resolve and collapsed on Anakin’s bed. Ran his hands over the sheets. Smelled the scent of shampoo on the pillow. This was pathetic, needy. He didn’t care.

His heart ached. So did his whole body, his parting gift from the Zygerrian slavers.

He closed his eyes and leaned into the pillow. Imagined that voice speaking to him. _Master, are you okay? And don’t lie to me, ‘cause I’ll know._

Out loud, to no one, he said, “I’m fine, Anakin.”

_You don’t have to pretend with me, Master. I know better than anyone what slavery does to a person. C’mon, just let me put some bacta on those wounds at least._

“I can take care of myself.”

_I know, but the thing is, you don’t have to._

That night, he dreamed of slavery. In the morning he woke up to sheets that weren’t his and scraps of abandoned droid parts littered around the room and he felt like a fool.

* * *

Ahsoka was becoming reckless, and Obi-Wan was powerless to stop it. She would run into battles, lightsabers blaring, jumping atop Separatist tanks to skewer the droids in them, opening herself up to blaster shots and cannon fire and it scared him to bits but he didn’t know how to approach the subject.

He tried to suggest better ways of dealing with things. He encouraged her to meditate, either through sitting calmly or through moving, like Anakin always had done. He tried to get her to restrain herself, but the more he tried to get involved in her own recovery the more she pulled away from him.

He just didn’t want to see her lose herself. He couldn’t bear to lose another apprentice.

* * *

When they were back on Coruscant, Obi-Wan went to see Padmé. It was somewhat embarrassing, having to go to someone outside the Order for help, but she was friends with Ahsoka and maybe she would have advice for him.

“I can’t really help you,” Padmé said as they sat on her veranda. “She’s been avoiding me at every turn. The only time I’ve seen her was at your fake funeral. Which was pretty cruel of you, by the way,” she added sharply.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said. “I know it was terrible timing, but it was the only solution to the plot against the Chancellor that we could find. I let Ahsoka know beforehand, but...” Ahsoka hadn’t been happy with his faked death, either. She didn’t want to have to pretend to lose _both_ her masters. “She keeps pulling away. It shouldn’t bother me as much as it does. I know I should give her space. But she needs help. Don’t you think you could –”

“She blames me for what happened, Obi-Wan. Every time she’s looked at me since Ani died I’ve been able to tell.” She sighed. She looked somewhat apathetic and terribly exhausted. The dark circles under her eyes told him she was getting even less sleep than he was. “I guess we all have our own problems.”

“Well then what do you think I should do? She’s increasingly reckless, she’s been putting her own life in danger constantly, and she avoids me when I try to talk to her about it.”

Padmé surveyed him. “Obi-Wan,” she said tiredly. “I think you’re lonely.”

“What?”

“I think you’re trying to spend more time with Ahsoka so that you don’t feel so alone,” she said softly. “I think you need to pause and start taking care of yourself before you can take care of her.”

“I have been taking care of myself,” he said stubbornly. “It’s not me who needs help.”

“Think back. Don’t you remember what Anakin was like when he lost his arm and his mother?”

Obi-Wan put his hand to his beard. “I suppose I see what you mean.” He remembered too well. Anakin had been distraught and reclusive and had yelled repeatedly at Obi-Wan for smothering him when all Obi-Wan wanted to do was help him through his rehabilitation. He had turned making Anakin feel better into his only mission and had begun to neglect his own needs. Only when he stepped back had Anakin actually begun to open up to him.

He sighed. “This is different, though. Back then, Anakin was safe at home on Coruscant. Now, Ahsoka is rushing through combat seeking glory and vengeance.”

“Then talk to the Council,” Padmé suggested. “Get her off the front. Then you can try to help her come to terms with everything.” She frowned. “A fifteen-year-old shouldn’t be in a warzone, anyway.”

He rubbed his forehead. “I’ve tried to get them to do that already. They need every Jedi they can get. But I’ll try again.” He knew the front was where Ahsoka wanted to be, but he had to admit – he would rather have an Ahsoka that was furious with him than an Ahsoka that was dead.

* * *

In the end, the Council wouldn’t take her away from the war. Not yet, anyway, not until they could tell her performance had taken a turn for the worst. As a master, it scared him. As a member of the Council, he understood. Still, it made him more than a little sick that they were willing to risk her safety because she had not yet proved to be  _too_ reckless. Where would they draw the line?

If the Council would do nothing, Obi-Wan decided, then he would have to.

He pressed the chime of Ahsoka’s small room and she let him in. She didn’t look too happy about it.

“When are we going back to war?” she asked. He frowned; they had only been away for less than a week, and already she was jittery and restless.

“I’m not sure,” he said. He sat down across from her. “I’d like to talk to you. I know you’ve been avoiding it, but we need to, Ahsoka.”

She crossed her arms across her chest. “If you’re going to tell me to meditate again –”

“I’m not. I just want to know how you’re feeling.”

Ahsoka looked surprised. “What?”

“You’ve been stressed lately, I can see that. And if you want to talk about it, I’m here to listen. Without judgment, and without criticism, if you wish.”

She considered for a moment. “I’m angry,” she said simply.

“What are you angry at?”

“Everything!”

“You can let it all out. I won’t interrupt, I promise.”

Ahsoka stared at him for a long time, as though she expected this to be a trick. Eventually, she burst out, “I’m mad, okay? I’m really, _really_ mad. I’m mad at Dooku because he killed my master and I’m mad at Padmé because _she_ killed my master and I’m mad at you for not having any feelings and I’m mad at the Jedi for not caring about anything ever and for forcing me to go into the war when I was fourteen.” She paused, taking deep, furious breaths, and then added, “And I’m mad at Anakin for leaving!”

She stood up suddenly and paced around her small room. “Everyone tells me to ‘release my feelings into the Force’ but I don’t even know what that _means_ let alone how to do it! I can’t talk to any of my friends because they’ve all been sent off to fight or they just don’t understand and no one could understand _anyway_ because they’ve never had a master who was the Chosen One. Everyone expected him to be perfect and because of that they expected _me_ to be perfect but I’m _not_ perfect and now he’s dead and I don’t know what to do and now I’ve been stuck with a master who doesn’t have any feelings! You keep getting in my face about not being reckless in battle but there is _no way_ you could understand how I feel because you’ve _never_ been in my situation!”

Suddenly, she collapsed on the ground, looking miserable and drained. “It’s not like I’m inexperienced with death. I’ve killed plenty of people. I’ve seen thousands of clones and people die. But this isn’t a clone or a civ or a Separatist. This is _Anakin_ , and I feel like I can’t go on without him.”

She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. Obi-Wan leaned forward. “It’s natural to feel like you do, Ahsoka.”

“I’m a Jedi,” she snarled. “It’s not supposed to be natural to feel anything. You’re a perfect example of that.”

“I do have feelings, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan said gently. “I’ve just had many years to practice dealing with them. In time, you will learn to release them.”

“Did you hear _anything_ I just said?” she almost yelled. “Everyone always talks about releasing my emotions, but they never tell you _how_ , or what that even means!”

He tried not to sigh. It had been a long time since he had a teenager to deal with. “Before you can do that, you must come to terms with how you feel. Please just hear me out –” he added quickly before she started yelling again. “There are other ways to deal with your emotions. Healthy ways. Even sparring, or exercising, or learning something new. I know you feel that combat is your only escape, but it doesn’t have to be.”

Ahsoka stared at him silently, her eyes wide. Obi-Wan knew it was a sign of dismissal.

He stood up. “Just consider other options, that’s all I’m saying. And I _am_ here for you if you need to talk more.”

As soon as he was gone, he let out an exhausted sigh. Force, he missed Anakin.

* * *

The nightmares still came to him, but no longer every day. He dreamed still of Anakin dying and Anakin dead and Anakin being tortured. He could still clearly picture the sight of him falling on that platform with smoke rising from the burn on his back, but now he could often dismiss it. Release it. Breathe it out.

Eventually, Obi-Wan began to dream of Ahsoka dying, instead of or alongside Anakin, and there was no comfort to be found in that. His life was a swirling black hole that pulled misery into it without ever letting any back out and he wondered if there would ever be an escape. As of right now, it didn’t appear that there would.


	4. Prisoner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Torture, psychological abuse, Orwellian 1984 type stuff if you're familiar with it. Possible suicidal thoughts/wishes. Very dark and sad! Most chapters will only exhibit canon-typical violence, but this one might actually go beyond that. Well, maybe. Forgive me for that, but I’ve always wanted to write a torture chapter so I went all out.

When Anakin awoke, there were several things of which he became aware. First, he was cold. Second, he had been confined to a containment field. Third, his memory of the past few days was very hazy. The fourth thing he noticed, of more dire importance than the other three and succeeding them in realization by only a few seconds, was that he couldn’t feel the Force. There were a few other things he noticed, too, like the damp, musty smell of the cell and the aching hunger in his gut and the dull throbbing of one spot on his back, but he figured he should take one thing at a time.

Anakin had been without the Force before, of course he had. He’d been held prisoner plenty of times. Once he’d even gone to a planet where the Force was so weak he had temporarily lost the ability to connect with it. This was no different from any of those times, and since he had gotten out of all of those situations he was sure he could get out of this one, too.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t the worst feeling he could ever imagine, though.

The Force was part of his routine, his lifestyle. It was always with him. It was a part of him – quite literally, too, because it was basically his father. Well, maybe. He had never really figured that one out. The point being: losing the Force was like losing half of himself. His ethereal Force essence was trapped in the prison that was his human body. Like this, he was no different from the rest of the population of the galaxy. He was suddenly, for lack of a better term, ordinary. Which, well, there was nothing _wrong_ with being ordinary, but...hell, not having the Force _hurt_. Like withdrawal from a drug, it left him shaking and sweating and cramping and _wanting_. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he could physically take being separated from the Force for too long.

Thankfully, he knew he wouldn’t have to. Obi-Wan would find him, or Ahsoka. They always did, and they would this time. Then he could go home to Padmé and –

_Padmé._

She had let Dooku keep him.

It was right of her, Anakin thought. Padmé had a job to her planet and the galaxy as a whole. By letting him go, she was protecting the Republic. With Grievous captured, they could win the war. It was for the best. He knew that. He was happy she didn’t deal with Dooku.

The nagging voice in his head that kept him up at night said: But do you really mean so little to her?

_It doesn’t matter,_ he thought. Because Obi-Wan was going to find him. It would be fine. It would be okay.

But what if he doesn’t? the voice in his head asked with an imaginary sneer.

_He will. He always does._

* * *

Within what was probably two days (come on, couldn’t Dooku have at least given him a room with a window or something? He’d do anything for one gulp of fresh air) Dooku’s first priority had become pretty clear: torture. Conveniently for Anakin, Separatists all seemed to have one thing in common – they wanted to see if they had what it took to break a Jedi.

The first torturer was quiet, a male Devaronian with signature red-tinted skin and a whip – not an electrowhip, not this time, but still a thin razorwhip that carved deep cuts, precise enough to slice through the synth-leather tabards and meet directly with the flesh of Anakin’s back. He bit back grunts every time it lashed into him. He would not let _anyone_ have satisfaction over him, even if it meant his life, and his health, and even his sanity. Even without the Force, at least he had that.

“Does that hurt, little Jedi?” the Devaronian said, putting his whole weight into the crack of his whip. Anakin didn’t grace him with an answer, so the torturer kept coming at him as Anakin’s blood dripped onto the floor.

When the sleemo had left, Anakin was pulled out of the containment field, stripped of his upper tunics, and left bleeding on the floor until a droid came in and disinfected the wounds with its hard metal appendages. At the touch, Anakin couldn’t stop a painful whine escape from the back of his throat, but he supposed it was okay. A droid couldn’t feel satisfaction over him, so there was no point pretending that it didn’t hurt. He heaved a deep breath, smelling the rusty scent of his own blood.

He wouldn’t break, no matter what Dooku threw at him. He could at least vow that much to himself.

* * *

Most of the time, Anakin was on the cold, hard floor with his hands forced together by metal binders, themselves attached to the wall by a short energy chain. Though not the electrified kind, they still rubbed against the skin of his flesh wrist whenever he moved (which was too often, he just couldn’t stop  _fidgeting_ ) and already the skin was scabbed and maintained a steady throbbing pain.

At present, Anakin found himself being forced back into the containment field in the center of the room and left there, waiting for whatever was to come.

It was Dooku, come to visit him for the first time in – well, how long had it been by now? Dooku raised the lights in the room from blackness to too-bright, and Anakin could hardly see as his eyes adjusted. “I hope you are comfortable with the arrangements we have provided you, Master Skywalker?”

Anakin coughed to clear his hoarse throat and then said, “Yeah, Dooku, it’s great.”

“I would not think that you would want to waste all your energy on jokes at my expense,” Dooku said, admiring his fingernails.

“I’m a little sad you haven’t visited me before now, actually,” Anakin said mock-thoughtfully. “I missed seeing your ugly face.”

Dooku wagged a finger at him. “Now, now, I don’t think you should be talking to your host like that. I do, after all, have some information that you might be interested in, and I would be very willing to withhold it from you if you do not comply.”

Anakin just yawned, sick and bleary from imprisonment, and Dooku smirked. “Good. You see, young Master Skywalker, I have not been entirely honest with you,” he said casually, looking around the room with mild interest. “You have been in here for two weeks, and I see you have already gotten to know some of my friends. At this point I’m sure you still think _your_ friends are out there looking for you?”

“Is this a test?” Anakin said flatly, not really asking.

Dooku responded by pulling a small round holoprojector out of his pocket and activated it. Anakin watched what appeared to be a recording of himself, kneeling before two SBDs before one of them shot him in the back and he collapsed. He made a face at Dooku to tell him he wouldn’t fall for it. “What, is that fake? I don’t even remember that.”

“I assure you that that _is_ you,” Dooku said with a mean smile. “That recording was broadcast several minutes after General Grievous’s public execution aired on the HoloNet. It was quite simple, really, just a blaster-proof vest and a few sedatives in your system. I hate to tell you, but your friends all think you are quite dead.”

“You think they would fall for that?” Anakin said incredulously. “Really?”

“My inside sources tell me that they did. I am quite sure...even dear Master Kenobi will have been convinced by it.”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

“And why not?” Dooku asked, facing him. “Can he feel you in the Force? I certainly doubt it, given that you’re hidden from it at the moment. I trust you are familiar with Force-suppressors. This particular kind is foolproof: it directly inhibits your midi-chlorians so that your access to the Force is entirely removed. And with your extremely _high_ number of midi-chlorians, you might expect some minor side-effects. You required a higher dosage than most.”

Anakin frowned. He had heard of that kind of Force-suppressor before, and as far as he knew there was no way around it. He would be absent from the Force for as long as Dooku saw fit.

“You’re not gonna break me, Dooku,” he snarled, pulling against his bonds, but Dooku just raised an eyebrow at him.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Bring it on.”

Dooku smirked at him before he left. “I will be sure to.”

The Sith left, the lights lowered, and two rough pairs of hands came in and chained Anakin back to the wall. He kicked at the people doing it, and one of them smacked him so hard his head snapped back and hit the wall. He leaned against it and tried not to think about what Dooku had said. The Jedi would _never_ fall for a stupid demonstration like that. It was too obvious.

Right?

Well, at least Grievous was dead.

* * *

Dooku did, apparently, intend to ‘bring it on.’

The torture probe proved to be his greatest enemy, and maybe his undoing. Anakin had read up on them, fascinated as he was by any piece of technology, but a few seconds after it pushed a needle under his skin he forgot whatever he had read about it and instead could focus only on the fact that _damn_ it was bright in here and why did it suddenly smell so _musty?_ Like, it had the whole time but now it was all-consuming, and there was someone coming in the room and he couldn’t really see who it was because it was so bright but whoever it was was _touching_ him, nothing that should have been awful but they were dragging their fingertips over the skin of his chest and arms and he really, really didn’t like to be touched by strangers and why could he feel so much?

Anakin was squirming against the wall, or at least he thought he was, but he couldn’t really tell what was going on because his head hurt from sensory overload and the Force being gone and why why why was someone touching him, only his friends could do that, only people he trusted, get off get off get off –

He hadn’t realized he had blacked out, but when he opened his eyes he was alone and everything was back to normal but he still felt...unsettled. Violated. Alone worried scared sad helpless. _Awful._

* * *

He worried about the 501 st . He believed in them to no end, he knew that without him they were still the best troopers in the GAR, but he worried what general had been assigned to them in his absence. Many of his men were nontraditional to say the least – they did things against protocol if they determined the situation demanded it. It was what made them the best. But not every Jedi – indeed, not even most of them, were okay with the clones taking their own creative twist on the rules. Many Jedi didn’t even acknowledge them as people. So he worried for Rex, Fives, Kix, Tup, Hardcase, Jesse, Dogma, and every individual man he had ever served with.

He worried about Padmé, and the stress that she put herself through every day, and the fact that no one seemed to take her seriously in the Senate. He worried that someone would try to take her life again and that it would work this time because he wasn’t there to stop it. He worried that she couldn’t forgive herself for letting Dooku take him and that she was losing herself to her misery, but then he remembered that that’s what _he_ would have done and that she was stronger than him in that way. Then he worried about the opposite, she would forget about him and find someone else and move on, turning him away if he ever found his way back home. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if that were the case.

He worried for Ahsoka, because he _knew_ what it was like to be a Padawan and have your master taken away. He remembered Jabiim too well, especially these days when there was little else but the pain to occupy his thoughts. He knew of the anger that Ahsoka was capable of, although she was usually great at hiding or defeating it, unlike him. He just didn’t want her to be _like_ him. He wanted her to be so much better. And he was terrified that without him, no one would have her back and she would be killed and he would come back to a dead Padawan and the thought of losing her, his little sister, killed him.

And he worried for Obi-Wan. His master _needed_ him. Anakin was always saving him from prisons and blaster bolts and hungry gundarks and Separatists and if he came back and something had happened to Obi-Wan...he would have lost his master, his best friend, his brother, his father, his everything. He could not function in this galaxy without Obi-Wan. And he knew that for a fact, because he’d been forced to try in the past and it’s never worked.

For what he was sure was weeks, Anakin had been imagining the day when Obi-Wan and Ahsoka would bust down the door, break his restraints and take him home. For the first time, he was beginning to seriously doubt it would actually happen.

* * *

He was always being watched. He didn’t have definitive proof to back it up, but he knew it as well as he knew his own name. When he ate (if he didn’t, they’d force him to anyway so it was honestly easier to just comply at this point) they watched him, staring him down, making sure he didn’t choke. When he was alone in the dark, he was positive night vision cameras watched him to make sure he didn’t bash his head against the wall, or find another way to end his own suffering. Sometimes, the lights would be on and someone would just come in and watch him, never looking away, still as a droid but with that eerie touch of sentience that left Anakin squirming and trying to cover his eyes, as if not seeing them could make them nonexistent.

More than once, he’d considered picking apart his metal arm to try to find something sharp enough to use as a weapon – maybe on someone else, maybe on himself – but he didn’t dare. If he did, they would see within seconds what he was trying to do, and they would tear it off or take it away. Being prisoner was bad enough, he’d at least like to have two hands.

Sometimes, living people armed with medical equipment would come in, give him a wordless checkup, stick him with a hundred hypos. He understood, though he wished he didn’t. Dooku needed to keep him alive, immobile but just healthy enough to be able to perpetually live in this dank cell. Honestly, it scared the hell out of him. He wasn’t stupid; he knew it had to _mean_ something. Dooku had plans. Anakin wished he knew what they were.

Vaguely, he wondered what was going on in the outside world. He wondered how the war was progressing, how many Jedi had died, how many planets they had lost to the Separatists. He wasn’t sure he would ever find out.

* * *

Dooku came once again with a holorecorder in his hand. Anakin was in the containment field again – they always put him in there when the Count came. He didn’t really see the point, anymore – it wasn’t like he had any energy to physically launch himself at Dooku no matter how much he would like to, and he was tied to the wall all the time anyway.... He did have to suppose the containment field was more humiliating, which Dooku always seemed to enjoy. Yeah, that was probably why. How comforting.

“You might be interested to see this,” he said when Anakin managed to look up. His face was swollen and everything hurt. The recorder activated and he was looking at what appeared to be a Jedi funeral. A body lay on a table covered by a light blanket. When he recognized Ahsoka and Padmé, his heart burned with longing to be with them. He didn’t know how long it had been since he had seen them in person.

“This is a recording taken by an inside source of mine who was present at the time of the funeral. It appears that your dear friend Kenobi was killed by a single blaster bolt – much like all of these people believe you were.”

“I don’t – believe you,” Anakin choked out. If he allowed himself to accept that recording as the truth, he would lose everything he had left.

“Well, that is your choice, of course,” Dooku said downright gleefully, pocketing the recorder. “And I admit, I would have loved to have faked this as well, but I assure you it is quite real. Kenobi is dead. Perhaps if you had been there, it would not have been the case.”

Dooku left and the torture resumed and Anakin _refused_ to believe that Obi-Wan was dead.

* * *

“He’s dead. Say it!”

_“No!”_ Anakin moaned.

“Kenobi is dead. He’s _dead._ ”

“I don’t believe you!”

The Klatooinian torturer smacked him hard on the face. Anakin could taste blood in his mouth.

“ _Believe it!”_

“I won’t...I won’t...”

His torturer took up a fistful of Anakin’s hair and forced his head back and then forward and back again against the wall. He felt something that was almost definitely blood trickle down the back of his neck. His gaze was locked in place as the Klatooinian stared him down, their heads only inches apart.

“I could hold you like this until you believe it,” he said, his foul breath potent and disgusting. “Kenobi is dead. Face it!”

_“No,”_ Anakin moaned, his face screwing up against the discomfort.

The Klatooinian shouted, “You will believe what I want you to believe!” He grabbed Anakin’s chin to force him to meet his gaze, digging his claws into Anakin’s cheeks until the skin bled. Anakin struggled, trying to pull away.

He wouldn’t believe it. He couldn’t, because if he did then he would really break, if he wasn’t already broken. Still, when the Klatooinian finally left him sobbing against the wall after what seemed like hours, he couldn’t get the image of Obi-Wan’s funeral out of his mind. Obi-Wan couldn’t be dead, not Obi-Wan...

* * *

Anakin was really beginning to comprehend that no one was looking for him. A part of him wanted to believe that Obi-Wan was still alive, and that he and Ahsoka would appear, announce that the war was over and this Separatist stronghold was captured and the Sith destroyed, that they were going to take him home and nurse him back to health and tell him that it wouldn’t hurt anymore. He liked to pretend that they and Padmé would stay by his bedside until he felt better and smooth his hair back and whisper to him that everything would be all right, he was safe now and they would never, ever let anything happen to him again.

(He wondered if that was how his mom had spent her final days, too.)

But it was all just a fantasy. No one was coming to save him. Probably no one even cared about him anymore. He was completely alone.

He wished he knew why they hadn’t just killed him for real.

* * *

Dooku almost never came to visit him, but when he did he came with what Anakin decided were most  _un_ pleasant surprises. This time, it was just torture, plain and simple. Nothing physical, though, not anymore, and Anakin had to admit he would probably just prefer that because if they physically tortured him maybe he would die and he wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore (which was, indeed, probably  _why_ they had stopped physically torturing him). But no, Dooku was favoring some good old-fashioned mental Force torture, and being that Anakin had no access to the Force he couldn’t do anything to defend himself from it.

“Now that we have agreed that Kenobi is dead,” Dooku said, pushing all the dark side’s influence into Anakin’s mind, “Let’s focus on your other friends. Why don’t we start with Senator Amidala?”

Anakin struggled uselessly against his bonds. “You can’t get to me,” he murmured as fiercely as he could. “I know better than – to fall for –”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. Something was wrapping around him, something cold and dark and unwelcoming, and he knew it was the Force but he didn’t _know_ it was the Force because he couldn’t _feel_ the Force and wow, he missed it, but it probably didn’t matter because if the Force cared about him at all it wouldn’t have left him here and it wouldn’t have killed Obi-Wan. And if the universe cared about him then it wouldn’t have had Padmé leave him here and if _Padmé_ cared about him then she wouldn’t have willingly given him up. Every bad thought he had ever had raced through his mind as fast as a ship hurtles through hyperspace and he screwed up his face, fighting a losing battle against whatever the hell Dooku was doing to his mind.

In a tiny voice, he whimpered, “Get out of my head....”

“She left you with me,” Dooku said from somewhere far away, his voice was faint but the impact of his words rang clear in the icy snakey grip that was wrapping around Anakin now. “I think it’s clear enough what that means. She never truly cared about you.”

“ _No,_ ” Anakin moaned in real time. “No, no, _no._..” He had no energy, though, so he thought it instead of saying it, knowing Dooku could hear it anyway. _No no no no no no you can’t get to me_

It became a mantra, and Dooku held the swirling, invisible vortex of the dark side around him for as long as he felt like doing before he took it away, and although Anakin was thankful for it to be gone, he realized that was the first time he had felt the Force in what, weeks? months? and a small, really sick and absolutely disgusting part of him wanted the feeling back.

“You’re almost broken, young Skywalker, no matter how hard you try to resist,” Dooku said as he left. “I look forward to seeing the finished result.”

* * *

Anakin was surprised that he could even feel pain anymore. But oh he could he could and it hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt. He was a broken shell of a person. He wasn’t even a Jedi anymore. He had betrayed the Jedi. A good Jedi would never have broken the way he was broken. He had failed Obi-Wan and Ahsoka and Yoda and Windu and Qui-Gon and everyone. Jedi were supposed to be able to withstand anything. He had failed them.

_Ugh_ , he missed his friends. The way Ahsoka nudged him playfully in the side when they shared in a private joke and the way Padmé twirled her fingers in his hair and the way Obi-Wan smiled that one special smile that was only ever for him. Ahsoka’s hugs, Padmé’s kisses, Obi-Wan’s reassuring touches on his shoulder and back and arm. He wanted to see them again. He just wanted to be with them. The longing was so intense it made him sick, sicker even than the constant pain.

Anakin missed his mom, too. Like mother, like son – how had she felt when she had been in this same situation? Tortured by those stupid despicable awful _monsters_ (that he had slaughtered like farm animals, but he tried very hard not to think about that), holding out a hope that he would come for her. Him, her son, the child she had had without even understanding how but that she had still chosen to love unconditionally. Her mangled body in his arms, the way she collapsed, how in the Force she had been there one moment and gone the next. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. He wanted her back, and he wanted to go home. He wanted everything to end.

Tears slipped down his face. Why couldn’t it just end? Why were they treating him like this, why, whywhywhy why why why, he wasn’t an object, he wasn’t property, he was a real living person who had three amazing and generous friends and an incredible gorgeous wife and a beautiful brave strong courageous mother (who was _dead_ , he thought about her so much but even if he could get out of here alive he could never ever see her again no matter what, _Mom..._ ). But, he supposed, none of that mattered here. _Nothing_ mattered, not his wants nor his pain nor his anything, because he _was_ an object now and he _was_ a slave again, he would never get out, never ever ever, he would be here until he died because that was what Dooku wanted and there was nothing he could do about it.

His sobs filled an empty room.

* * *

By this point, just the sound of the door creaking open was enough to do it for him. Anakin could hardly lift his head, but he squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the worst, whimpering and shaking horribly. His body was already broken in by this point, and he didn’t see how he would be able to take any more.

The room was pitch black and dead silent outside of the light and slow, constant hum from the containment field that held him once again, but even without the Force he could sense that someone else was in here with him. He looked around as best he could, but he could hardly even make out the outline of whoever was in the room with him.

“Please, please just stop, _please,_ ” he begged, and he hated himself because he _never_ begged for anything, he was always so much better than that but not anymore. “Please just _make it stop!”_

He was tensing up, writhing around to try to escape whatever was about to overtake him, when he heard it – a sound from his past, one that haunted him everywhere he went, the battle cry of a Tusken Raider. It felt like his chest was being taken in a vice grip and crushed, he could hardly breathe, he was hyperventilating but sort of screaming at the same time. He didn’t know how Dooku could possibly know about what he had done to the Sand People and what they had done to him but he didn’t care because there was one in here with him and this was it, this was the worst thing they could do to him, and he knew that because even after everything he had been through he had never been this terrified in his entire life.

The Tusken didn’t touch him, but it didn’t need to. He was his own worst nightmare – he thrashed around as much as he could, sobbing his head off, an image flashed in his head of slicing through the Tuskens’ bodies, chasing the ones who were trying to escape him and killing them too, killing the women and the children, killing them _all_. He cried out apologies and admittances, saying that he was so so sorry he killed them, he did it and he shouldn’t have but please just leave him alone because he couldn’t take anymore. It was all his fault, he was a murderer, but his heart was pounding in his chest and an icy fear encapsulated every cell of his body and he was certain that if this went on he was going to die of fright. In fact, he desperately wanted to.

That was the answer. He hadn’t realized it until now, but he really, really didn’t want to be alive anymore. Obi-Wan was gone and Padmé had surely moved on and Ahsoka probably didn’t care about him anymore and his mom was dead, so he had absolutely no reason to be alive. He was going to die here, he had to, and he hoped it would happen quickly because there was nothing else that could be done to break him worse than what was happening right now.

This had to be the end. Please, Force, let this be the end.

The lights turned on. He couldn’t see anything for a minute as his eyes adjusted and then for longer because his vision was blurred with tears and sweat but he eventually managed to look up and he saw that it wasn’t a Tusken who had come to torment him, it was Dooku himself, holding a recorder and standing before his pathetic form with that condescending smirk.

Humiliation washed over him in droves. Dooku had made it his personal mission to make Anakin’s life as miserable as possible and he had succeeded. He took Anakin’s arm, his dignity, his access to the Force – his _freedom._ The only things that made him _Anakin_ Dooku took for himself. He was nothing more now than a pathetic broken humiliated human body shaking and cringing and crying while Dooku looked at him, his eyes shining with enjoyment.

He didn’t even feel angry at Dooku anymore, he realized. There was too much raw hatred, fear, and shame to simply be _angry_ at him. What Anakin felt towards his captor went so far beyond anger that he didn’t even think there was a word for it.

Finally, Dooku spoke. “Now that that display is over, I think you have proven that you are ready for the next stage of treatment,” he said as if Anakin had transcended from a sentient being to a science experiment. He actually sounded disappointed when he added, “I’m afraid we will not be seeing each other for a while, young Skywalker.”

The door opened and two humans dressed in long white lab coats entered. One of them held a syringe. The energy binding Anakin to the containment field released and he fell to the floor, moaning in agony, and he was very aware of someone sliding a needle into a vein in his arm before everything turned fuzzy. His eyes grew unfocused and his limbs wouldn’t obey his brain’s commands and he heard but didn’t really feel the doctors assessing and touching him before he blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to everyone who’s given this fic any kind of attention! Honestly just sharing this thing with other people and having them like it means the galaxy to me!
> 
> So, I want to keep you guessing but not too much, so I’ll tell you that chapter 5 is Ahsoka POV, chapter 6 is Anakin again, and chapter 7 is Padmé, and this chapter took place over about two to three months. See you then!


	5. Sixteen

Ahsoka deflected a blaster bolt back at a droid, then another, then another. Most of the tinnies were down, sparking heaps of scrap metal on the dirty village ground, but the SBDs were still coming on strong, as if Dooku himself had sent them to make her life just a little bit harder than it needed to be. She bit back a growl at the thought of him, and launched herself at a pair of droids.

_It only takes one droid to kill a Jedi._

Yeah, and two dozen more to kidnap one. Okay, sure, she didn’t know the details around how Dooku had managed to capture Anakin in the first place and she definitely wasn’t planning on asking Padmé the details, but Skyguy was – _had been_ – a super soldier in his own right. He was the best fighter she’d ever seen. A Jedi like that didn’t go without a fight.

Ahsoka’s hands clenched a little tighter around her lightsabers, and the next cut into a droid was probably a little too aggressive.

Then her commlink chimed; she rolled her eyes and activated it. The blue holographic figure of her master appeared with his arms crossed. She looked at it while deflecting bolts with her dominant hand. _“Ahsoka, you were supposed to meet me at the rendezvous point for evacuation twenty minutes ago. Why haven’t you checked in?”_

She gestured to all the people around her that he couldn’t see. “We’re trying to evac these civilians first. There’s at least four dozen of them, Master, and the Sepper tanks are heading right towards us!”

_“I_ know _about the tanks, which is why you were supposed to meet me here with all of your clones!”_

She frowned. “But what about the civs?”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly and looked at her. _“I’m sorry, Ahsoka, but we need to leave them.”_

“ _What?”_ she said incredulously. “No! I won’t do that!”

_“Ahsoka, if we took the time to evacuate every civilian from this planet, our forces would be crushed.”_ He looked at her sternly, but there was some sympathy in his face. “ _I don’t want to leave them any more than you do, but we have our orders.”_

“I don’t care about orders!” Ahsoka shouted at him. “These people are going to _die!_ We can’t just abandon them! We can take on the Seps, Master, just bring your troops over here and help us out!”

She watched Obi-Wan sigh and look at her hard. _“We’ll be there soon. This is not the end of this discussion.”_ Ahsoka pressed the button on her commlink angrily and ran off to help some civs.

* * *

“Get on the gunship,  _now!”_ Obi-Wan yelled at her, deflecting blaster bolts back at the tinnies in all directions.

“I am not leaving these people!” Ahsoka screamed at him over the sounds of war. Thirty feet away, one of the gunships was hit with a burst of photons and exploded, killing at least thirty clones. She tried desperately not to let it phase her.

“We don’t have a choice!” he shouted, backing as the droids advanced. The civilians’ settlement was in flames, people of all species ran in every direction trying to escape the destruction. “Are you really going to make this mistake again, now?” Obi-Wan stared down at her as she watched the killing from behind her sabres. “Ahsoka, we need to go!”

She swallowed hard and ran back to the gunships. The clones she was commanding ran back with them and the gunships flew back to the cruisers waiting in the upper atmosphere. Ahsoka looked back at the surface reluctantly as she abandoned dozens of civilians to their deaths, allowing herself, just for a moment, to hate the Jedi and Obi-Wan a little bit.

* * *

Back on the cruiser, Obi-Wan stood before her, hands on his hips. “Ahsoka, when I give you an order, you are supposed to  _follow it._ ”

“Most of the time, I do!” she said angrily. “This was a _bad_ order!”

“It is the duty of a Padawan to accept their master’s judgment in _all matters_.”

Blood rose into Ahsoka’s face. Her headtails turned an angry shade of blue. “This was _not_ my fault!”

“You have to take responsibility for your actions!” he snapped. “You cannot grow as a Jedi if you refuse to accept and learn from your mistakes.”

“I didn’t make a mistake!” she almost yelled. “You ordered me to abandon all of those people back there when they _needed_ us! We’re Jedi, we’re supposed to _help_ people, not leave them to die!”

“Ahsoka,” he said, sighing and putting his hand to his eyes. He looked very old and very tired. “It was a choice between allowing our forces to be decimated on the surface or fleeing and saving as many clone lives as possible. Unfortunately, someone had to make that choice. With the clones alive, they can help other people where we could not help those civilians.”

She stomped her foot angrily. It was a childish display of anger and she felt pathetic and embarrassed for resorting to showing her feelings like this, but she _kinda_ didn’t care because Obi-Wan had just forced her to let all those people die and that was a _pretty_ big deal.

“But they needed our help!” she said furiously. Then her brows knitted together and her voice quavered when she added, pulling out her last and most cold-hearted resort, “Anakin would have helped them!”

She watched as his jaw tightened and he closed his eyes. Frustration seemed to melt off his face, replaced by a frightening calm. “I am _not_ Anakin. Neither are you. He’s _dead_ , Ahsoka, and if you think that that fact is going to continue to hinder your ability to command, perhaps you need to take a break from combat.”

“It’s not hindering my ability to command!” she said indignantly. “I’m just saying that he always did the right thing, and maybe we should be more like him!”

Obi-Wan actually laughed, and it was bitter and cruel. “Oh, I assure you, he did not always do the right thing. He disobeyed orders constantly, and often in a way that jeopardized the entire mission and hundreds of lives. That is exactly what you have been doing for the last four months. It appears now that he passed many of his worst traits onto you.”

She stared at him incredulously. She didn’t care if he yelled at her, but he was _not_ going to criticize Anakin. She didn’t care that he had known Anakin longer and better. “So it’s a bad thing that he tried to help people, is it?”

Obi-Wan crossed his arms and took a deep breath. “Anakin didn’t just try to help people. He tried to help _everyone_. And I’ll tell you now what I have told him a hundred times: you _cannot_ save everyone. You need to learn to accept that.”

Ahsoka shook her head, in awe. “Maybe he’s the only one who really knew what being a Jedi is about, then.”

“You need to learn your place, young one,” he warned. “You have become increasingly reckless and disobedient and I do not think you’re currently mature enough to be on the front. I will be informing the Council of your behavior and seeing if they think you should be taken off active duty for the time being.”

He hit a nerve. “You can’t do that!” she shouted, and waved her hand towards the viewport, gesturing out to the stars. “The galaxy needs all the Jedi help it can get!”

“They _need_ Jedi with cool heads who listen to orders and can command without letting their emotions control them,” he said sternly. “You cannot control a war situation if you cannot control yourself.”

Ahsoka balled her fists and stared at him furiously. “Anakin –” she started, prepared to hurt his feelings to the extreme, but hesitated. Then, impulsively, she decided she _wanted_ it to hurt. “Anakin was a better master than you’ve ever been to me. _He_ understood how I feel. You don’t even try.” She watched with grim satisfaction as faint shock registered on his face and stormed out before he could berate her again.

* * *

The Council suspended her from active duty and she shrunk back to her small quarters, livid. How could they  _do_ that, taking her away from the one thing she needed to escape? It wasn’t fair. Her heart pumped fast and she couldn’t sit still and she wanted to punch something really hard, but there was nothing to punch so she upturned her blankets and kicked at her pillow and pulled all her extra clothes and robes out of the closet and threw them on the floor and she made a huge mess because  _she_ was a huge mess and there was no one who understood and nothing that could make her feel better.

Her anger was not abated by ransacking her room. She needed to _throw_ something, so she took her lightsaber hilt in her hand and threw it hard at the wall and then took up her shoto and threw that too. Then she sank to the floor and cried because she was beyond sad and frustrated and she wanted nothing more than for Skyguy to appear out of nowhere and call her Snips and hug her and tell her he was sorry he was away for so long but everything would be okay now.

Ahsoka sat there in the quarters she had laid waste to crying into her knees and rocking back and forth. She had said so many terrible things to Master Kenobi but he was just calling her out on what she did wrong and she felt so _stupid_ like she was back to being the shiny inexperienced Padawan who didn’t understand the war but was forced to fight in it anyway because all the adults that weren’t out fighting had already been killed.

Eventually the tears stopped and she looked around her room, ashamed of her outbursts. She crawled over to where her lightsabers had fallen and picked them up reverently, whispering an apology. She remembered Anakin’s words to her, words that he had been told by Obi-Wan, who she had just yelled and screamed at like the most immature youngling ever: _This weapon is your life._ She clipped them back to her belts, vowing never to treat them that way again.

Suddenly she heard her door chime, but she didn’t want to see Master Kenobi no matter how bad she felt so she yelled, “Go away!”

“It’s Barriss,” a small voice said, and Ahsoka sniffed and got up and opened the door. Her friend stood before her, looking concerned. “I sensed that you were upset. Are you all right, Ahsoka?” She peered around at all the clothes laying on the floor.

“No,” she said. “I yelled at Master Kenobi. I told him Anakin was a better master than him.”

Barriss looked at her sympathetically. “Did you mean it?”

Ahsoka stared at the floor. “I don’t know.” She stepped aside so Barriss could enter. When the door was closed, Barriss took her and sat her down against the wall.

“Master Kenobi has probably already forgiven you,” she said confidently. “I’m sure he remembers what it was like to be your age, and he definitely knows how hard it is to fight in the war.” Ahsoka sniffed and nodded. “Here, I’ll help you clean up.”

Ahsoka watched, feeling embarrassed and incredibly helpless, as Barriss picked up all her clothes and hung them in the closet. She fixed Ahsoka’s bed and put the pillow back in place, then she opened the blinds to give them more sunlight.

“I bet you’ve never been this mean to Master Unduli,” Ahsoka said miserably.

“Maybe not, but every Padawan knows how it feels to disappoint their master, and every master remembers how hard it is to be a Padawan.” Barriss smiled at her. “You’ll feel better, Ahsoka.”

“Not while I’m stuck here, though,” Ahsoka said, leaning against the wall. “I’ve been taken off active duty because I got too _emotional_. But whenever I’m stuck here, I can’t get my mind off the war and all the things it’s taken away from me. I know it’s terrible, but the front kind of feels like my home.” She frowned. “I miss my old troops, though. Well, Anakin’s old troops.” She raised her head suddenly. “Maybe while I’m stuck here they’ll come back to Coruscant and I can see them!” Ahsoka smiled at the thought. She missed Rex and Fives and Jesse and Kix and all of them. She hoped they were all okay.

Barriss smiled too, and sat against the wall with her. They sat there for hours, chatting the negative feelings away.

* * *

While stuck on Coruscant she was allowed to leave the Temple when she wasn’t doing her assigned duties. Accordingly, she flew a speeder over to the military barracks where the 501 st had just come back from a huge battle. She pressed the door release to open the large rec room and beamed the second she saw a hundred of the same familiar face.

The 501st was unlike any other legion of clones. While all clones were individuals, the 501st were some of the only ones who flaunted it with their unique armor and hair and tattoos. Ahsoka knew that Anakin had been one of the only Jedi who treated the clones as if he were equal to them. The clones had all admired him tremendously for his respect for them and the fact that he led them in battle rather than lurking behind giving orders. Anakin had passed onto his clones the same thing he had passed onto her: an understanding that obeying the rules isn’t always the best choice. It allowed them to be creative and it led to them being widely acclaimed as one of the best, most successful legions in the GAR. She just wished Obi-Wan could understand the need for that sort of creativity.

The clones immediately noticed her (Ahsoka was quite aware that she stood out in a crowd like a sore thumb) and shouted calls of welcome at her. She smiled widely; coming here and seeing them was like coming home after a few months’ vacation gone wrong.

“Commander!” called a familiar voice, and she could pick out Rex in a crowd any day of the week. He was sitting with Fives and Kix and Jesse, and she could name almost every other man in the room, too.

“How have you all been?” she asked the table of them, sitting down. They were playing some kind of card game she wasn’t familiar with.

“I don’t suppose you’ve been worried about us, Commander?” Fives said cheekily, nudging her with his elbow. Ahsoka crossed her arms playfully.

“Not at all, actually,” she said, pretending to be condescending. “I’ve been super busy with my new yellow-wearing clone friends.”

“Left us for the 212th, did you?” Kix said, teasing. “I always knew they weren’t to be trusted!”

Ahsoka dropped the act. The playful one, the Jedi one, the Commander Tano one. “I miss you guys,” she admitted. “It’s not the same fighting without you. Who’s commanding you now?”

“We’re, uh, in between generals,” Rex said, rubbing his head. “Something about us being too incompatible with all these other Jedi.”

“Nothing has been the same since Krell,” Fives said darkly. “Well, since before that, you know, but...he really messed the guys up. Me included.” He shuddered.

“I heard about all that,” Ahsoka said. She too had participated in the space portion of the battle of Umbara, but she hadn’t ventured down to the surface. And she had been...distracted. It had been too soon after Skyguy.

“We’ve kind of been pushing our generals a little,” Rex said. “But I think we’re all just too afraid of someone else like him commanding us.”

“Yeah, Commander, hurry up and get knighted so you can lead us!” Jesse said.

Ahsoka laughed. “General Tano? I don’t think that’s gonna happen any time soon. I’ve kind of been pushing _my_ general a little too much, too.” She sighed. “The 212 th are great men and great soldiers, but they don’t have the... _creativity_ of the 501 st, you know? They’re not really willing to twist orders or bend rules.” The clones nodded, understanding what she meant.

It felt good to let herself be honest with them, just like it had with Barriss. But she still felt bad about yelling at Master Kenobi. When she was done here, she decided, she would go and apologize to him. But first...

“So, what are you guys playing?”

* * *

Ahsoka entered Master Kenobi’s living quarters – the ones he had shared with Skyguy, she had been avoiding them for that very reason – and found him in his meditation room.

“Master?” she said, and he opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’m sorry about all those things I said. Especially the ones about Anakin.”

Despite how tired he looked, he smiled. “It’s all right. I suffered many more outbursts from him when he was your age.”

“No, it’s not all right,” she said, sitting cross-legged opposite him. “What I said was really disrespectful and rude and I feel horrible. But I’ve cleared my head and I think I’m all right. I was just really angry.”

“I understand,” Obi-Wan said sadly. “I lost my master, too. But instead of getting another one, I was left with a fragile Padawan who I couldn’t very well take my anger out on. And believe me, I had a lot of it.”

“You did?”

“Oh, yes,” he said softly, looking back. His eyes looked hollow as he remembered. “I killed a Sith with it, in fact. It took me years to get over it. I still feel it, sometimes. Especially recently.”

Ahsoka knew what he was talking about; though he didn’t dwell on it, he had told her about how the Sith he thought he killed had come back and was terrorizing him.

“The trick,” he continued, “Is to accept that you have it, and that you may not be able to get rid of it for good. But I promise you, with much patience and persistence, you will heal.”

She felt doubtful, to say the least. Sometimes she could hardly see a future without Skyguy, even though he had been gone for months. Sometimes, everything seemed bleak and there didn’t seem like there was any way she could get through it. Mostly, she just wanted him back.

“I’ll try,” she promised.

“He was very proud of you, you know,” Obi-Wan said quietly after a long pause. “And so am I. You may be reckless, especially of late, but you have still grown much from the small Padawan who we met on Christophsis. I know that you can do anything you put your mind to.”

Ahsoka’s lips curled into a smile. “Thank you, Master.” Then, she settled into a comfortable spot and meditated with him.

* * *

Standing before a large open window overlooking Coruscant, Ahsoka pointed at a young Mon Cal girl who raised her hand.

“What’s the difference between a normal grip and a reverse grip like you use?”

Ahsoka smiled. Many Masters and experienced Jedi discouraged the reverse grip religiously, so she would be immensely pleased if she could pass on her quirk to the next generation of Jedi. “The only difference is the way you hold it. When it comes to combat, Jedi who are well-practiced in the reverse grip can fight just as efficiently. The reverse grip is part of Shien, which you all just recently started to learn. I don’t always use it, only when I feel comfortable doing so, such as when I’m deflecting blaster bolts as well as sometimes when I’m engaged in a lightsaber duel.”

“What’s it like to fight bad guys?” a Rodian boy asked, and Ahsoka shook her head.

“I’m not here to tell you war stories,” she said, scolding him playfully. “We’re here to practice. And hopefully by the time you’re all my age, there won’t be any more bad guys for you to have to fight.”

The fact that the younglings looked sad about not being able to grow up in combat made Ahsoka want to herd them all in a ship and take them to a planet where they could forget about the war. As the war continued to go on, Jedi were being sent to the front lines younger and younger. She was testament to that, and not to brag, but not all Jedi Padawans were as strong as she was.

“All right everyone, reignite your ‘sabers and we’ll –” Suddenly, an alarm began to blare throughout the room they were training in and the corridors outside. Ahsoka was familiar with the alarm, although she had never seen it in use – it was a signal that someone had attacked an area of the temple. She willed herself not to panic. Protocol came first: she was a Jedi, and right now these younglings were in her temporary care.

“Everyone, get to the wall,” she ordered, and she quickly ran over to the door and pressed the emergency lockdown key. Her commlink went off.

_“Ahsoka, are you all right?”_ Obi-Wan’s voice came through. There was no panic audible in his voice, but Ahsoka had served with him long enough to be familiar with his overprotective streak.

“I’m fine, Master,” she said. “I’m with a group of younglings. What happened?”

_“Someone set off a bomb in one of the hangars,”_ he said. Her eyes widened. _“I’ll let you know more when I find out, I just wanted to make sure you were safe.”_

She shook her head a little, but inside her heart was pounding. A bomb? In the _temple?_ Moving over to the initiates, she forced herself to remember that anything she did could rub off on them.

“Everyone try to stay calm,” she said, kneeling down with them. “I’m sure this will be over soon.”

“Padawan Tano?” the Rodian boy asked. “Is it all right if I’m scared?”

Ahsoka smiled at him. “Admitting you’re scared is something that not a lot of grown-up Jedi are able to do. It’s okay to be scared. I get scared all the time. But being a Jedi is about controlling your fear, instead of letting your fear control you.”

“When do you get scared?” a small Twi’lek asked, voice quavering.

Ahsoka sat thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time I tell all of you one of those war stories you want to hear....”

* * *

“That can’t be true,” Ahsoka was saying to her master two weeks later, shaking her head. Because really, it couldn’t. It was impossible.  _Impossible._

“Unfortunately, it is,” Obi-Wan aid, looking apologetic. “She came to the Council and confessed last night. They sent her off to the military base this morning.”

“ _What?”_ she said incredulously. She couldn’t believe Barriss, her best friend and her support system, could have been responsible for the bomb. “They gave her over to the military? But she’s a _Jedi!”_

“I know, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan said. “But Admiral Tarkin and the Supreme Chancellor feel that because clones and non-Jedi temple employees were killed in the explosion, it’s only appropriate that the Republic itself be in charge of her fate.”

“But – she –” Ahsoka stammered, upset because Barriss was a traitor and because the Jedi gave her over without a fight and because she _never_ liked that Admiral Tarkin. He was sticky and suspicious and gave her major creeps. But now he had his hands on Barriss? Who was a _traitor?_

“If I go to see her, will they let me in?” she said, staring up at him.

He frowned. “I’m sorry, Ahsoka, but I don’t think they’re allowing any –”

“Can’t you pull some strings or _something?_ ” she asked him, ready to beg if she had to. “Master, she’s my best friend! I can’t just – even if she...”

Obi-Wan’s expression softened sadly. “I’ll try.”

* * *

Ahsoka dispensed her lightsabers and commlink into the tray and the clone at the station told her, “I can only give you ten minutes.” She allowed him to lead her to Barriss’s cell, admittedly not liking his tone. The clones on Coruscant never seemed the same as the ones who went out into the field. Somehow they were ruder, more wound up, and much more formal.

Barriss was sitting on the small cot in the cell, and when she saw Ahsoka her eyes brightened just for a moment. She stood slowly.

“I was hoping you’d come,” she said.

“Barriss, how could you do this?” Ahsoka said abruptly. “How could you bomb the temple?”

The Mirialan looked down sadly. “Something needed to be done, and no one else was going to do it.”

“What are you talking about?!”

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told the Jedi Council, Ahsoka,” Barriss said calmly. “The Jedi have completely lost sight of themselves. We’ve been acting as war mongers from the very beginning, and as the war goes on we’ve only been getting worse. I wanted things to change, and bombing the temple was the only way I could think to let the Jedi see what we’ve become.” To her credit, she looked entirely depressed. “I never wanted it to go this far. I didn’t want anyone to be killed.”

“But they _were_ , Barriss,” Ahsoka said. “Jedi, and clones, and civilians!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Barriss said, collapsing on her cot. “I _know._ That’s why I confessed.”

Ahsoka stood over her, at a loss for words. Her best friend was a murderer and a terrorist. Even if she hadn’t meant to kill, it didn’t matter. Nothing could excuse this. “But Barriss, the Jedi want the war to end just as much as everyone else. We’ve been trying as hard as we can. And with Grievous gone, everyone has been saying we’re getting closer and closer to doing so.”

“Grievous’s death changed nothing, Ahsoka,” Barriss said, her bright blue eyes shining. “Nothing will ever change unless people do something about it.”

Ahsoka just frowned down at her, dismayed. No one had ever been so wrong – Grievous’s death changed _everything._ “I’m sorry, Barriss.”

Her friend shook her head. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I deserve whatever they’re going to do, I know that.” She managed a smile. “We may never agree on this, Ahsoka, and I know you will probably never forgive me, but...I’m glad we’ve been friends all this time. It’s meant the universe to me.”

“Me too,” Ahsoka admitted. “You helped me through a lot. I just...”

“I know.”

The clone opened the door and said, “Times up.”

“Ahsoka,” Barriss said as the Togruta turned to leave. “Can you please do something for me?” Ahsoka looked at her. “If you see Master Luminara...can you tell her that...I’m sorry I failed her.” Tears suddenly swam in both of their eyes. Ahsoka nodded quickly.

“Goodbye, Barriss.”

* * *

Ahsoka sat with Master Kenobi in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, her legs dangling off a rock. “Why does it feel like we have to lose everything?”

“That’s what war does, I’m afraid,” he said sadly.

She drew her knees up to her chest. “Anakin was my best friend. Barriss was my best friend. Who am I going to lose next?” Then she looked at him regretfully. Obi-Wan had just lost someone else of his own. Ahsoka didn’t know the Mandalorian Duchess very well, but she had been at Obi-Wan’s fake funeral a few months ago, obviously devastated, and she had just died at the hands of the Sith that Ahsoka had only heard bits and pieces about. “Are you okay, Master?”

He was looking at the waterfall, his eyes distant. He looked like he had aged a lot in the last few months. He had dark circles under his eyes and his shoulders slumped and his robes seemed loose. He didn’t bother to answer her question. Despite her own pain, she suddenly and violently wished Anakin was here, just for his sake. He had always cheered Obi-Wan up, even if Obi-Wan pretended otherwise, and seeing a normally calm and collected Jedi like Obi-Wan disheveled and _feeling_ almost made her own pain feel insignificant. They were both stuck in a loop of perpetual heartbreak.

Ahsoka hoped they would return to battle soon. It was the only escape.

* * *

Before she went back into combat, there was something Ahsoka had to do.

She walked through the halls of the Senate building, always a little self-conscious among these rich and well-to-do elites of the galaxy. She saw her friend Riyo Chuchi and waved before entering Padmé’s office. The Senator was pouring over some documents but looked up when Ahsoka entered. Padmé looked surprised but glad to see her.

“Ahsoka!” she exclaimed, standing up. She looked exhausted and dejected but she smiled nonetheless. “It’s so good to see you!”

“You too,” Ahsoka admitted. “I just came by to say that I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I was really mad at you,” Ahsoka said truthfully, trying not to look away. “I needed to place the blame on someone, and of course I blamed Dooku, but you were a lot easier to take my anger out on. But I let my anger consume me, and I didn’t allow myself to see that you were hurting just as bad. I’m really, really sorry, Padmé.”

Padmé slowly approached her and hugged her. “Thank you for saying that,” Padmé said softly, rubbing Ahsoka’s back headtail soothingly. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Don’t be,” Ahsoka said, breaking them apart. “That was the worst decision anyone could have ever had to make, but you were just making the best decision for the Republic as a whole. I think I can finally appreciate that.”

Padmé smiled, but Ahsoka could see that behind her brave facade she was upset, even disgusted, with herself. This time, Ahsoka wrapped her arms around Padmé. She suddenly missed Barriss and Anakin really, really bad. “If you ever need to talk, I’m here.”

Padmé just held her back and whispered, “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say a big thank you to everyone who has read, commented, subscribed, anything! I'm really excited for you all to see what's going to happen next!


	6. Madhouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Torture and canon-typical violence, no self-agency, depression, suicidal thoughts. Dark stuff, with a sort of early 1900s sanatorium vibe intended...if that helps you visualize anything. For those of you who’ve seen the Winter Soldier, this one goes out to you! The chapter title is inspired by the Little Mix song of the same name.

The room was a blur of silver. Silver medical equipment set into silver walls. People in white coats milled around him, checking monitors, paying Anakin no mind. His eyes were unfocused, but he looked down and saw that he was leaning back in some kind of chair with his arms fixed to it by metal restraints. His body still hurt from wherever he had been before and it was hard to concentrate. He felt distinctly uneasy.

He didn’t know how long he sat there before someone acknowledged him, but he was too lethargic from whatever sedative Dooku had given him to care. Plus, frankly, he figured that whatever they did to him now couldn’t possibly be worse than what he had already endured. Finally, someone – they all looked like doctors – pressed electrodes to his chest and clipped a heart monitor onto his finger. They forced his mouth open and placed a bite guard between his teeth before pulling something down that secured his head in place. He was still groggy, but alert enough to know that _something_ was about to happen, something he desperately wanted to avoid, so he let his animal instinct take over and started pulling weakly at the restraints in a useless attempt to escape.

Then the machine turned on.

It _hurt_ oh it hurt it hurt _pain pain pain pain pain_ –

A second later, or maybe it was a few minutes, or maybe an hour, Anakin opened his eyes. His muscles ached like he had been beaten and his head lolled to one side, there was a vaguely vomit-y taste in his mouth and his throat was raw so he must have been screaming but he couldn’t remember any of it. He was no stranger to electrical torture so he knew what seizures felt like but this – this was something beyond anything he’d ever experienced.

They – the, well, doctors? – released the bolts on his arms and dragged him to another room. He had no energy to fight back. They hoisted him up to a flat table that was maybe supposed to pass for a bed and left him alone.

* * *

It went on and on and on and on, every day, or maybe every other day. Seizures, vomiting, maybe a little or a lot crying, but it wasn’t for what he guessed was two weeks that he realized he couldn’t remember why he was here.

Shouldn’t he be out fighting in the war? Who captured him? He didn’t know. Where were Obi-Wan and Ahsoka? Had they been captured too? And the 501st, his men...he wished he remembered and he wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t, but he knew that the people who moved him around and electrocuted him every day wouldn’t answer so he didn’t bother to ask.

* * *

It wasn’t until Anakin realized he couldn’t remember meeting Ahsoka that he figured out exactly what they were doing to him. There was something about crystalline blue skyscrapers and sandy Tatooine...Obi-Wan was there and Rex was laughing at him...and that was it. He racked his brain all day and all night (time wasn’t even real in this place, no windows meant day was night and night was morning) but he couldn’t manage to fill in the blanks.

It terrified him. What if it went further? What if Ahsoka and Obi-Wan found him, and he couldn’t remember her? It made him want to cry. He refrained, at least when he had company, and instead he channeled his energy into fighting back, kicking and punching and struggling. It didn’t really matter. His kicks missed and his punches had no force behind them (and no Force, either, how long had he gone by now without having the Force?) and even struggling became more impossible by the day. He was too weak. Too pathetic. He tried refusing to eat – because he would rather starve to death than forget his friends – but they strapped him down and stuck needles in his arm and put a feeding tube in his stomach to keep him alive.

* * *

The seizures were the worst. Well, there wasn’t really a  _worst_ (everything was awful, nothing was okay, he was an object) but the seizures were definitely in the top five. He always woke up from them to the mingling tastes of vomit and blood, people milled about him but no one would tell him what had happened, he only knew they were seizures because that was the word they used the most often. Everything was confusing, nothing made sense. He didn’t know where he was, but he wanted to go home. Wherever home was. To his friends. Not that he had many of those. There was Obi-Wan, and Padmé, the Chancellor, and...what was her name....

* * *

When he was alone, he laid on the flat table, stared at the ceiling, and tried to remember things.

His mind was a scattered arrangement of memories, flashes of things that could have been either yesterday or three years ago. He could have been here for months, or weeks, or years. He didn’t even know with clarity how old he was. Twenty, maybe, or twenty-one. Maybe older. Not younger, though, because he well remembered being a teenager so those days must have passed.

He had lots of time. He would typically focus on one memory, and when he was sure he could get nothing more from that one he would try to think of something else. The reddish sands of a planet with lots of death, where the Force had been screaming...his mom, limp and fading...Obi-Wan, his arms crossed over his chest as he huffed on about something that wouldn’t matter the next day...Padmé, in a white dress on the balcony of her lake house...clones, a million men with the same face, dying at every turn while Anakin lived on...that’s right, there was a _war_ going on, fighting on a thousand planets while he was trapped here in some silver room, trying to figure out why he had a metal hand in place of a real one.

Tears welled up in his eyes again. He turned on his side and let them out, silent and shaking. What even was this place? Was Padmé okay? Where was Obi-Wan? Was he okay? Was he captured, too? Was he here? Was this happening to him, too? No, Anakin was certain he would know if it was.... Was Obi-Wan out there, fighting the war, or was he tracking down his missing Padawan like his life depended on it? Was anything even _real_ outside of this Force-forsaken mystery torture zone? Was there any life that he could ever have outside this madhouse? Would he ever find out?

* * *

Most days, he complied – or, at least, he didn’t fight, though he didn’t actively cooperate, either. He hated it, of course he did, but doing what they said was a lot less painful than resisting and at this point, saving himself from a little extra pain made all the difference. Sometimes, though, he couldn’t help himself, when the rage had been building up for days on end and he couldn’t take being their tool (slave puppet test subject) any longer. One of these times, he socked his mechanical fist straight into a doctor’s stomach and knocked them to the ground because hey, if he had piece of metal attached to his body he might as well make use of it. For a few days (were they days?) they kept his arms fastened to his sides and tied him down. Fine, let them. He was not going down without a fight.

* * *

He thought about Padmé a lot. He always had, since the first and last time they had met, and now he was trying to cling to all the memories he could while he still had them. Padmé was such a wonderful queen and the people of Naboo loved her. He loved her too, he was sure, because seeing her in his dreams and thinking about her all the time had to mean that he loved her. She was kind and compassionate, like his mother, and she had talked to him and cared about him even though she was the queen of a Republic world and he was a slave from the Outer Rim.

It was like he was a slave again now, except he wasn’t put to work, just subjected to the whims of his masters. He longed for his current master. He hoped – no, he _knew_ – that Obi-Wan would never rest until he found his Padawan. Then he could take Anakin home and everything would be okay and maybe he would be able to see his mom and Padmé again. There wasn’t a lot (or any, at all) of hope in him anymore, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t dream. Dreaming was probably the only thing that got him through.

* * *

Slumped in a chair in the room they kept him in when they weren’t shocking him, Anakin stared numbly down at his own body. Any muscles he had were withering away from maximum disuse, leaving skin that looked strange and disfigured in their wake. His bones all looked especially pointy and a lot of his ribs could be counted. He couldn’t really stand on his own anymore and the food they gave him tasted like the color gray. The metal arm was still a mystery.

What puzzled him the most, though, was the question of how long he had been here. His most recent, clearest memory, a diplomatic mission that had been so boring at the time (he would give anything in the entire _universe_ for a lifetime of boring diplomatic conferences if it meant escaping this hell-prison) had been when he was...fourteen, he thought. In his head, it felt like maybe a month ago, but logic told him it must have been at least a few years. But he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything anymore.

He sighed heavily. He wished he knew what they were going to do with him when their work was done, when his mind and body had both been reduced to nothing. That day was coming, and soon, and he wasn’t really sure that whatever made him _Anakin_ would still be around to find out.

* * *

On the way to the chair Anakin fought them, moaning nonsensically and trying to throw them off in one last desperate attempt because this was it, there was so little left and all his memories seemed to be taken away in backwards order and the only thing, the only person from his life away from Tatooine that he could picture in his mind with any clarity at all was Obi-Wan and please please please don’t take him away –

“ _No,_ please...Master...I want my master...Obi-Wan, please...help me....”

They strapped him down and he writhed against the restraints, moaning, “Please, please don’t take away my master, please don’t take my master, please –”

– and it hurt hurt hurt and when he woke up the next day he couldn’t remember who ‘Master’ was supposed to be.

* * *

It was almost all gone. Tatooine was almost gone. His mom was almost gone.  _He_ was almost all gone. There was nothing he could do. It was over. They won.

* * *

He stopped resisting, for good. There was no reason to, anymore. Everything still hurt, his muscles after a seizure, his head during the treatment, the stump of his arm where metal met flesh, his chest when he was gasping for breath because something set him in a panic. Everything was confusing. Nothing made sense. There was little more they could do to him. He couldn’t remember anything, not where he was from or how he had come to be here or even what his name was. He was an empty shell. If someone had told him he had never lived a life away from this place, he wouldn’t have had anything with which to refute that claim.

He spent his days staring at nothing. When they put food in front of him, he ate it. He couldn’t really stand and he could hardly sit up, so he let the doctors move him around like a puppet. He let them bathe him every few days without objection and he just didn’t really feel the need to cry anymore. What would be the point? Whatever was going to happen to him was going to happen. At this point, there was no reason to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: While this chapter borrows some imagery from old mental asylums and their historical mistreatment of patients, the science behind the events of this chapter is completely fictionalized. For example, though I was partly inspired by the portrayal of ECT in old movies like One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, in reality ECT (electroconvulsive therapy) is actually a helpful and beneficial thing when used in the right circumstances, and not a torture method. This is a popular misconception and I just want to make sure everyone knows I’m not trying to say that ECT is inhumane. I’m not, and it’s not anything like this at all.  
> Anyway thank you so much to everyone who has read my story so far! I appreciate it more than I can tell you and I can't wait for you to find out what's to come!


	7. The Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Depression and anxiety issues.

“And thus,” Palpatine was saying from his tall Senate Chamber podium, “It is with a heavy heart that I must regretfully inform this congress that I am being advised by my personal physician to take a short leave of absence to regain my health.”

So the Chancellor was taking sick leave. Padmé listened absentmindedly, drumming her fingers on the armrest of her chair. Vacation was more like it. And, well, she couldn’t really blame him, either, because at this point in the war vacation sounded _nice._ Relaxing, meditative, peaceful, serene...

...and _completely ridiculous_. The leader of an entire Republic of thousands and thousands and thousands of systems couldn’t just up and _leave_ because he was feeling a little worn out. It was irresponsible. Outrageous. And, of course, it was going to gain him support and sympathy, a hundred million get well messages and wishes of good health, because he was a tired-looking old man while she, she was just a tired- _feeling_ young woman.

Damn. She wanted sick leave.

The Chancellor continued, “I must assure each and every one of you that while I am away, I will remain constantly available and ready to return at a moment’s notice should a crisis arise. I am honored to be the leader of such a loyal body of constituents and I would never wish to abandon the Republic’s needs so selfishly for my own.”

But yeah, how suspicious would it be if Padmé _did_ take her own sick leave? Two influential members of the Senate from the same planet, who both happened to be feeling extremely unwell of late? She wouldn’t be able to pull it off if she tried. It would be broadcast on all news networks that some conspiracy was afoot, a deep-rooted Naboo takeover or some other ridiculous scandal that someone had probably already made up and was just waiting for an excuse to sell to the HoloNet. The Chancellor wouldn’t be accused of anything, though, just her. It would be political suicide.

“I am confident that in my absence, we will all make our best effort to keep the Republic functioning at its highest capacity, and continue lending our support to the thousands of Jedi Knights who so nobly lead the campaign against the Separatists.”

Suicide, huh?

Oh, no. There were her bad thoughts again. She should probably do something about that.

“I thank you all for your attention and look forward to my return in a few weeks.”

And the session was over. Fine, fine. Except, Padmé didn’t really feel like getting up, or moving at all. Maybe she could get away with a quick power nap on the floor of the Naboo pod, escape the hustle and bustle of government for just an hour or two, or maybe a day, or the rest of her life –

“It’s time to go my lady,” said a small voice from behind her.

Padmé heaved a heavy sigh, rubbed her eyes, and said, “How about you be Senator Amidala for the rest of the day, Moteé? You could take my office, my headdress, everything. Just leave me here to die.”

The handmaiden walked around the pod and knelt down, making a face. “I could never be half the senator you are, milady. And look, your makeup is smudged again, let me fix that for you.” She took a white cloth from the fold in her dress to dab at the black smudges.

“I wonder how that keeps happening,” Padmé mumbled. When she was done, Moteé pulled Padmé to her feet and steered her toward the main hall of the Senate building. And as if on cue, Bail Organa appeared at her side.

“What do you think about this turn of events? Some political move?” he asked straight off. Padmé blinked up at him, only belatedly remembering what he must be talking about.

“I think I would like to see a doctor’s note,” she joked humorlessly, and Moteé let out an obligatory giggle.

Bail had a wry smile on his face. “Well, at any rate, I’m having a small get together at my apartment later and I want you to come. Breha’s finally got a chance to visit, and I’m only inviting a few over. And before you ask,” Bail added with a twinkle in his eye, “It will be a strictly no-politics party.”

Padmé opened her mouth to respond but found herself silent, leafing through excuses not to go in her mind and finding none that she hadn’t already used. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go – she did, sort of, and Bail was one of the best friends a girl could have – rather, it was just that, well, she just didn’t want to go.

Before she could speak, though, Moteé put her hand on Padmé’s arm and said, “She would love to, Senator Organa. She’s just so excited she can’t even speak. Isn’t that right, milady?”

Padmé nodded and faked an over-exaggerated, perky smile. “Mhm.”

“Wonderful!” Bail said, clapping his hands together, the same twinkle in his eye telling Padmé he knew what the issue really was. “Then I’ll see you at twenty hundred tonight!”

When he left, Padmé elbowed Moteé in the side, but the girl just batted her eyes and smiled.

* * *

The trip home, an unfulfilling nap, and a long argument between Moteé and Ellé over which dress Padmé should wear later, and Padmé was stepping through Bail’s front door. Alderaan parties were terrific, they really were, but something about the aching fatigue that made all of her limbs three times heavier than they should have been made her want to turn around, go straight back home, and sleep for the rest of eternity.

At least, that was until a quiet, very polite voice from behind said her name and when she turned around, she smiled for what felt like the first time in five months.

Obi-Wan looked tired, as always, and his smile didn’t really have any of his characteristic youthful charm in it. He looked thinner every time she saw him. She said, her own voice sounding more positive than she had thought possible, “I didn’t know you would be here! I’ve been so worried about you, how are you? No wait –” she added hurriedly when he opened his mouth to reply. “Don’t answer. I can’t stand it when people ask me that question, so just pretend I didn’t say anything.” He just smirked, put his hand on her arm for a moment, and went off to greet Bail.

Padmé spent the night trying to laugh, actually laughing a few times, and wavering very distinctly between _Moteé was right this was a good idea_ and _I need to leave right now or I’m going to flood Coruscant with my unprovoked tears._ She spent time catching up with Breha, because if there was anyone at all in this universe she could relate to it was another queen; they had a late dinner which, of course, was excellent; at one point (having forsaken the no-politics rule almost immediately) she stood in a small group with Mon and Bail, speaking in hushed but strictly disapproving tones about the Chancellor’s absence because really, it _was_ a ridiculous action for Palpatine to take and she was glad she wasn’t the only one who thought so. After a point, she realized Obi-Wan had excused himself from company and she went to look for him.

She found him on the balcony, looking cold and incredibly alone. Naturally, he knew it was her before she could say anything. She put her hand on his arm and they stood in silence, watching the animated Coruscant landscape for a long time.

“How is Ahsoka doing?” Padmé asked, not knowing if she would get a response.

His eyes were exhausted from all the terrible things he had seen and done in such a short time. “I’m not entirely sure,” he said distantly. “It seems like she’s always in motion. Trying to take her mind off things, I think. She’s still exceedingly reckless, sometimes. Too often.” He sighed. “I wish I could get her to slow down, but if I try to interfere she just avoids me.”

“She’s only sixteen,” Padmé said. “That’s much, much too young to be fighting in a war.”

“If only I had a say in it,” he responded, gripping the railing of the balcony so hard his knuckles, bruised and battered from combat, turned white.

Padmé folded her arms around herself, and not only to keep warm against the chilly breeze. “You’re not supposed to be soldiers. Surely even the Jedi Council can’t _force_ you to fight in the war if you don’t want to.”

Thinking, he said, “Any Jedi, including me, would rather die fighting in the war than have someone else do so in our place.” Then, he looked sideways at her. “I’m sure that must sound like a generic response, but it’s how we really feel. If my time comes during the war, then I would be honored to become one with the Force.”

Padmé didn’t say anything. She didn’t have the mental energy to even _want_ to have a philosophical discussion about death and metaphysical afterlife in the Force, whatever that meant. She just wanted him and Ahsoka to be safe, and as long as the war continued they would never be that.

Suddenly, though, Obi-Wan seemed to collapse in on himself, leaning over so that his elbows rested on the railing, putting his face in his hands, taking deep breaths of the stale city air. A moment later, he spun around and looked at her with an almost wild frenzy in his normally calm face. “When I’m away, I can forget about everything. Distract myself. Maybe even pretend that – that I’ll find him in his room when I come back, fiddling with some droid.” Padmé’s mouth fell open. Wait, huh? Where was this coming from?

Obi-Wan shuddered, continuing, “But when I’m here....He was like my brother, you know. But it feels more like losing a child....”

To steady him, or maybe herself because she was definitely shaking now, Padmé put her hand on his back and tried to think of some condolence to offer. Instead, she whispered, “He was my husband,” and after an uncomfortable pause Obi-Wan looked back up at her, appearing faintly shocked. She continued, voice now thick with emotion, “We got married on Naboo. Years ago, after Geonosis.” Her heart was beating so fast, and tears were in her eyes now. “He wanted you to know so badly, but...both of our careers were at stake, and he was so afraid of disappointing you, and....”

Obi-Wan looked back out at the city, unseeing, and breathed, “Married....”

“Please,” she said, “Please don’t think of him badly because of it. It was both of our decisions to lie about it, and he loved and respected you so much. Sometimes, you were all he would ever talk about. He was crazy about you.”

Obi-Wan just shook his head back and forth. “What else didn’t I know?”

_That he slaughtered a tribe of Sand People in cold blood_ , Padmé thought immediately, but no way in _hell_ was she ever going to say those words aloud, to anyone _ever._

Her chest hurt so badly, and her throat was too tight to speak, so she just wrapped her arm around his shoulder.

Obi-Wan looked at her again, as if seeing her for the first time. “I am so sorry, Padmé.”

“Me too,” she whispered back. “I miss him so much.”

“Me too.”

They held each other for a long time. Resting her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes, Padmé tried not to pretend it was Anakin holding her, instead of Obi-Wan. It was only once they had remembered exactly where they were that they broke apart. Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair and said, not looking at her, “I should probably go.”

She didn’t want him to. Still, she nodded. “Please be safe, Obi-Wan.”

He squeezed her hand once, left her out in the cold, and when she returned to the party she tried to pretend she wasn’t shaking.

* * *

If Padmé considered the last few months in terms of good days and bad days, today had to be a bad day. One day,  _one day_ after the Chancellor’s departure to who-knows-where and already she was swamped, bogged down in meetings for hours on end, drowning in bills and paperwork and memos and comments and questions and never, never in her years and years of work as either queen or senator had she ever felt this overwhelmed. And everything had to be done  _perfectly,_ because if it wasn’t the queen would catch on that Padmé couldn’t do her job, and then she could get fired, and then she would be trapped inside her own head for the rest of eternity and the war would rage on and society would crumble and it would all be because she couldn’t fill out some stupid form without crying all over her desk...

She told herself, _think of all the bad things that will happen if you don’t fill this form out right now._ Well, for one, someone would look for the form by the deadline date and find that it wasn’t there, and probably be severely annoyed. Then they would trace the disappearance back to her, report her to her sovereign leader, who would bring Padmé back to Naboo, where she wouldn’t be able to help with the larger war effort and as a result people would starve to death, and everywhere she went for the rest of her life everyone would stare at her with looks of unbridled disappointment because she was such an incompetent public servant and why did they even elect her as queen in the first place? What a mistake that was, they would think.

On second thought, she said to herself, _don’t think about it. Don’t think about anything at all._

Tears welled up in her eyes, just like they did every day. Fill out the form. Just fill out the form. Fill _out the stupid form –_

Actually, she decided, taking a nap in her office sounded like a much better idea.

* * *

A week later, the pointless form a distant memory (that constantly jabbed at her self-esteem like a red-hot poker because hell, if she couldn’t fill out a form what could she actually do? probably nothing), Padmé pulled a small wooden jewelry box out from underneath her bed. It was a rectangular thing, innocent in appearance, the box itself originally belonging to a beautiful blue gemstone necklace, a gift from her father’s mother. The necklace had been lost years ago by a young and irresponsible politician soon to be named Amidala, but the box now contained two newer relics of the not so distant past. For a few minutes, Padmé held the box in her lap, staring down at it, considering. Then, she opened the metal clasp and took a deep breath.

Besides two years of love and an uptight protocol droid, the japor snippet and the Padawan braid were the only two gifts Anakin had ever really given her. But, Padmé thought as she took the necklace by its rope and hung the snippet around her neck, they were enough. The markings on the wooden trinket were foreign to her, understood only by a community of slaves on a desert planet, but if she closed her eyes and dreamed hard enough, she could imagine the little boy staying up late the night before his big race, carving symbols into the wood and thinking about the teenage girl who had showed up at his junk shop looking to repair her starship.

Looking back in the box, she considered picking up the braid, too, but decided against it. It was too pristine, too perfect to risk snagging the hairs, too personal even for her to touch. Instead, she bit back her tears, closed the box, and thought, _happy birthday, sweetheart. I’m so sorry._

* * *

The Corellian Sunrise was really, honestly, truly the best alcoholic beverage on this side of the galactic core. It was this delightful shade of orange, and although she had never seen a Corellian sunrise in person, Padmé knew that one day (when she was significantly more sober, perhaps) she would have to hop on over to the planet and see if it really was as beautiful as the drink. And okay, sure, all right, maybe drinking herself into a coma wasn’t the  _best_ way to cope with her husband’s death – murder –  _it was her fault her fault her fault –_ but that certainly didn’t mean it wasn’t a viable option.

From somewhere she couldn’t see (because her eyes had closed against the ethereal swirl of fruity-tasting bliss) C-3PO’s nagging, worrisome voice was saying, “Mistress Padmé, don’t you think you’ve had enough of that foul liquid by now? This is your third glass tonight.”

“Noooooo, Threepio,” Padmé slurred, wheeling around to face him. “You can go shut down or, whatever you do. I am perfectly – _hic_ – capable of – proceeding along my present course alone – _hic_ –”

“Dear oh dear,” Threepio said, shuffling away with that mechanical sound he made when he walked, and she downed the rest of her glass. Stretching, she stood up to go get herself another drink, made a few wobbling steps towards her liquor bar and –

_–_ the next thing she knew it was morning, she was in her bed, and she didn’t entirely remember what had happened the night before but it must have involved her head being hit repeatedly with a giant metal hammer because there was nothing else that could have explained this headache, oh boy....

* * *

At work, her eyes skimmed over the same sentence for what felt like the thirtieth time. It wasn’t anything too complicated, just a dissertation on the public expenditures of neutral systems during wartime, so she couldn’t understand why she was having so much difficulty focusing. If she was going to address the controversial government spending of neutral but trade-heavy planets like Mandalore to her constituents and the toll that the war had taken on the galactic economy as a whole, she would need to be well-read on the issue at hand. Unfortunately, she was yawning every three minutes and kept glancing over her shoulder to lazily watch Coruscant through the window, distracted and uninterested in the discourse before her.

Padmé couldn’t understand why she felt no interest in anything anymore. All she wanted to do was watch bad HoloNet features and lay in bed. It was unlike her and terribly inappropriate for a distinguished Senator such as herself.

She sighed and put her head on the desk. Her headdress was knocked askew despite how carefully Ellé had pinned it to her head this morning. If it wouldn’t have left her looking like an undead creature from the depths of the Coruscant underworld, she would have just taken the thing off completely.

The comm unit attached to her desk buzzed and she fumbled around, trying to find the button without looking. When she heard the click she uttered an, “Mmm?”

“Senator, Representative Binks is here from Naboo.”

“All right,” she mumbled, lifting her heavy head up as Jar Jar entered, decked in the regal senatorial robes he always thought were unsuited to him.

“Hi, Jar Jar,” she mumbled as he sat down. “Thanks for coming.”

“Mesa happy to be helpin’ with whatever yousa need!” Jar Jar said cheerily. Padmé tried to smile for him. “What can mesa do?”

“I’m just so tired, Jar Jar,” she said, leaning back. “Naboo needs my help, and with the Chancellor away there’s so much that I need to do to make up for him being gone. I don’t want to ask you to take on all my responsibilities, but...I was wondering if you might – I don’t know –”

Jar Jar put his hand to his chest. “Mesa would be honored to take on yousa burdens, Padmé,” he said seriously. “Yousa done so much for Naboo and the war, mesa thinken yousa deserve a break.”

She frowned. “You do?”

He nodded. “Mesa know what yousa been goin’ through. Mesa miss Ani too.”

Padmé was too tired to feel more guilt. The weight from it had already crushed her and left her for a pile of goo seven months ago. Still, Jar Jar was one of the first friends Ani ever made when he left Tatooine as an energetic nine-year-old with a haunted past. She remembered the little boy and the Gungan sitting quietly with no one but each other for company as the politicians and the Jedi took care of their Important Business. She remembered concealing her identity from them and trying not to look longingly at these two strange figures who knew nothing of the planet they had been deposited on.

She sighed and then looked gratefully at the Gungan before her. “Thank you, Jar Jar. I really need this.”

* * *

If it weren’t for Jar Jar’s help, Padmé was certain she would have been fired by now. After all, if Queen Neeyutnee had any idea that a certain Senator Amidala was lying on the couch of her main room with a blanket draped unceremoniously over her, staring at a holodrama with swollen eyes, her majesty almost certainly would have taken action already. But really, Padmé couldn’t help it – she physically, no matter how hard she tried, couldn’t seem to do anything at all. And because of it she hated herself so much that it hurt to even be alive.

Dormé came over and started smoothing her hair. “Senator, please tell me what’s wrong,” she said gently.

“I killed my husband,” Padmé whispered, choking on the words.

Dormé knelt down beside the couch. “Milady, Count Dooku killed your husband. I don’t think anyone would believe for an instant that you intended for this to happen.”

“Doesn’t matter – what I _–_ ” No, she couldn’t even finish the sentence, it was too hard to even speak. Instead, she sputtered, “I miss him.”

“I know you do,” Dormé said, rubbing Padmé’s back in soothing motions. It should have helped, but it didn’t. Nothing could ever help. There was no way she would ever, ever, ever feel better....

* * *

Ahsoka was over, propped on the railing of Padmé’s balcony with her legs dangling back and forth. She was saying, “Look, I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you, but...I mean, we’re all having a really hard time, it’s not just you. Maybe you just need to sink yourself deeper into your work or something. That’s what I’ve been doing.”

Padmé, slumped against the wall, covered her eyes with her hand and looked away as the tears slipped out. And _that_ was why she hadn’t told anyone exactly how she was feeling before now. It’s what they all said. Get deeper into your work. Look on the bright side. Just smile. Think about work. No one understood, not at all, not even a little bit.

It wasn’t really Ahsoka’s fault that she’d say that, Padmé knew. The Padawan had never been depressed with a capital D before, but honestly, what more could Padmé do? Did she _look_ like she could wish away these feelings? “You don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice catching.

“I guess not,” Ahsoka said quietly. “I’m sorry. I really do want you to feel better. Have you tried any kind of medication?”

Sniffing, Padmé shook her head. “I don’t trust these Coruscant doctors,” she said. “The last thing I need is for someone to hear a rumor that I’m clinically depressed. No one would ever take me seriously again.”

Ahsoka hopped off the railing and knelt down in front of her. “Padmé, I’m going to say this as your friend. Your wellbeing is more important than anything.”

Before she could stop herself, Padmé blurted out, “I don’t deserve to feel better.”

“Yes, you _do._ ” Ahsoka leaned in, and put her hands on either side of Padmé’s head so Padmé couldn’t look away. “You deserve so much better than this, okay? And I know you’re beating yourself up about that decision, but look at what’s come out of it. Grievous is _dead_ , the Separatist army’s lost it’s main commander. As an army officer myself, let me tell you that that’s a _big deal._ ”

Padmé wasn’t sure, and it must have been obvious on her face because Ahsoka continued, “Listen, I’ve fought with Grievous, and believe me, he was _scary._ I’ve seen battlefields in his aftermath, and I’ve been to planets that the Separatists colonized. We’re so much better off without him, Padmé.”

“So you think I made the right choice?” Padmé asked, skeptical.

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Ahsoka said coolly, leaning back. “I’m just saying that you don’t deserve to be feeling like this no matter how much you think you do.” Then, Ahsoka’s face took on a different, muted expression. “And I’m probably part of the reason you feel this bad. Again, I’m sorry. I wish I could make it up to you.”

“You already have,” Padmé said, taking her hand.

Ahsoka tried to smile. “And about Anakin, well...listen, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from Master Kenobi, it’s that sometimes, we have to make decisions and take actions that kill us inside, but are for the greater good.”

Padmé leaned her head back against the wall. If only she could make herself believe that applied here, no matter how true it was. She said, “If I can manage it, I’ll try to find a doctor I can trust.”

“Good,” Ahsoka said, looking reassured and confident. She leaned against the wall, and nudged Padmé gently in the side with her elbow. “I just don’t want to lose another friend. After all, who else is going to hook me up with gourmet Naboo cuisine?”

Padmé faked a smile.

* * *

She had been expecting the call from Queen Neeyutnee for weeks, and it had finally come. Padmé was being called back to Naboo, where her majesty had some “Important Matters” to discuss. A part of Padmé wished the queen could have just said it, those two magic words,  _you’re fired_ , because it was going to happen anyway and there was nothing she could do to avoid it and she might as well just start planning for her future now....

It was only the second time she had seen Naboo since she had knowingly and mercilessly abandoned Anakin to his death, but even so, Padmé had to admit she was happy to see the rolling grassy plains and the rumbling waterfalls, and to smell the sweet aroma of flowers that blew throughout Theed. If she really had to retire at the age of twenty-six, at least she could do it on the most beautiful planet in the entire Mid Rim.

The queen received her in the throne room with that familiar masked expression on her painted face. Beside the throne stood the queen’s own handmaidens, so like Padmé’s own, silent until called for.

Neeyutnee spoke first, but what she said came as a surprise. “How are you feeling of late, Senator?”

Padmé’s mouth fell open involuntarily. An unexpected inquiry, to be sure. And it would be so, so wrong to lie. So wrong...she cleared her throat. “I’m doing well, your majesty.”

Skepticism was, apparently, one of the emotions that could make it through the queen’s makeup. “The reason I ask is because recently, I have been concerned about your ability to fulfill the demands of your position. Are you having difficulty coping with the amount of work? I understand you have asked Senator Binks to assist you in many duties.”

Padmé looked at the floor, too ashamed to meet Neeyutnee’s eyes. Shame stabbed at her like a knife. “Yes, I have been having trouble.”

Neeyutnee said, “Senator Amidala, you are an excellent representative for the needs of this planet, its people, and our sector. There is not a single piece of legislation that you have pushed for that I have not supported. That being said, if you feel you cannot continue to serve Naboo to the best of your ability, then I will have to ask you to do something that I would rather not.”

Padmé realized she was shaking. _Just fire me. Fire me, please, that would make everything so much easier._ _Or harder, I really don’t know._ “Forgive me, your majesty,” she said, bowing her head.

“I am not removing you from your post, Senator.” _What?_ “Queen Jamillia believed you to be the best representative for our planet, and I agree with her judgement.” _It’s not true, though, it’s really not. Honestly._ “I had hoped that asking you to return to Naboo might help remind you of what you fight for in the senate, in contrast to the harsh atmosphere of the capital. Perhaps some time away will be healthy for you.”

Padmé gaped at her. That was so kind, so thoughtful. She didn’t deserve that sort of kindness. “Thank you, your majesty,” she said genuinely. “I am honored that you have so much faith in me. I promise I will not allow myself to become so unfocused in the future.”

Neeyutnee stood and said, “There is no need to thank me, Senator. I simply do not wish to lose a representative that is as good for Naboo as you.”

A second chance. Padmé was getting a second chance. On one hand, the heaviness of it all felt like it was going to squish her into the ground like a boot squished a bug, leaving nothing but a barely alive pile of goo that couldn’t move and wouldn’t die. On the other hand, maybe if she could just find the energy, she could make the queen – and herself – proud and finally fix this galaxy from the bottom up. Maybe....

* * *

When Padmé rang the doorbell to her childhood home that afternoon, she wasn’t sure what she would find. Avoiding the entire planet for seven months straight had meant indirectly avoiding seeing her family in person, and even now a sick part of her wanted to run away while she still had a chance. Even the stone walls and the well-maintained plants on the front steps couldn’t calm her racing heart, or tamp down the sureness that she would be met with looks of stern disapproval from her parents and betrayal from her nieces and –

The door opened, and before she even knew what had happened her older sister had swept Padmé into her arms. “Where have you been?!” the woman squealed, releasing Padmé and holding her at arms length to look her over. Sola was, as always, beautiful, with glowing skin and a soft velvet dress and that shining, beaming smile on her lips.

In response, Padmé just shrugged. “Severely depressed.”

Sola pulled her inside and shut the door. “Mom and Dad are out with the girls, so I think we have plenty of time to talk. I want to hear everything.”

“I’m not sure you know what you’re in for when you say that....”

“ _Everything._ ”

So Padmé spilled. About the Senate, and how she couldn’t cope, and how Queen Neeyutnee was two seconds from forcing her into an early retirement; about her feelings, and how much she maybe, sometimes, occasionally wanted to get hit by a passing speeder; about the fact that, well, remember that cute Jedi boy she had brought home that had been her bodyguard that one time? Yeah, well, they had gotten married and, oh, he was also dead and she was a widow and it was her fault that he was dead and she couldn’t stop thinking about him for one second and it hurt so so so so much and _Sola...._

By the time her parents had come home, the crying had stopped. She felt so drained, but still she swept Sola’s two adorable daughters into a big hug and pressed a million kisses to their cute little braided crowns before moving onto her parents, clinging to each of them in turn like she herself was a child again.

When they separated, Jobal, her mother, said, “How long are you staying?”

“I’m not sure,” Padmé said. “Not long.”

“You’re staying the night at least?” her father, Ruwee, asked, already heading into the kitchen to start a feast. “We have four courses planned!”

Padmé laughed, again kneeling down and hugging Sola’s daughters. “At least.”

That evening, they settled into the most delicious dinner Padmé had ever had, and for just a little while she could forget about the pain.

* * *

Later, Padmé sat on the front steps of their house with her mother’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. They were looking up at the stars. There was nowhere on Coruscant one could see the stars from. Maybe a few every once in a while, but the light pollution was so great it might as well have been perpetual daytime. The air was so much cleaner here, too, and everything was quieter, and she wished more than anything right now that she didn’t have to go back.

“I still think you’re overworked,” Jobal said quietly into her ear, stroking Padmé’s hair. Padmé felt a little like a child again, but in the best way. “You look exhausted. Drained. You should stay here for a while.”

“I can’t, Mom,” Padmé murmured. “The queen called me back here to give me a formal reprimand because I’ve been neglecting all my responsibilities.”

“Well one day, when Queen Neeyutnee is a mother, maybe she’ll understand how much it grieves me to see you in so much pain.” Padmé looked up at her. “That’s right, I know. I can see right through you. I don’t know what happened, and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to – but I just want you to know that we’re always here if you need to talk. All of us.” Jobal smiled warmly. “You will always have a home here, Padmé.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

They looked back up at the stars.

* * *

Before she went back to Coruscant, she got a prescription for antidepressants from her old Theed doctor. It could take a few weeks, she was told, before they started working, and honestly Padmé wasn’t quite sure she would make it that long, but honestly, it was a relief to have a diagnosis to cling to. Well, it was better than living with the nagging idea that maybe it really  _was_ all in her head. Somehow, she was finally managing to convince herself that maybe everyone else was right. That somehow, for whatever reason, she actually did deserve to feel better.

It just sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

* * *

A month later, it was still hard. Some days, Padmé woke up after already sleeping too late, rolled over, and put her head back in the pillows until Moteé gently forced her to get up. Those days, it felt like the stars had gone out and there was no reason to get dressed because there was a war going on and civilization was crumbling and no one in the Senate seemed to care. Those days, she fought tears when she looked at the Jedi Temple from her balcony and felt sick to her stomach when she realized Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were out there fighting a war that they, like Anakin, might not survive.

Other days, she woke up and she was happy to see the sun. She was eager to put on her headdress and go to the Senate and speak up because hey, there was a _war_ going on, the economy was struggling, people were dying every day, and she needed to do something about it. Peace wasn’t going to happen if she just stood by and watched the Republic crumble. Peace wasn’t going to wait for her to get over her feelings about widowed at the age of twenty-five. Peace wasn’t going to rebuttal against all the calls for more clone troops and more deregulation of government services and more powers to a Supreme Chancellor that wasn’t even present on Coruscant at the moment. _Peace_ needed her to get her head in the game.

Never, though, would Padmé forget the color of Anakin’s eyes or the way his face lit up when he saw her across a room. She wouldn’t forget their wedding day or their wedding night or any day or night since, nor the touch of his hands and the feeling of his hair in her fingers and the tingling she felt when their bare skin touched. Her memories would remain within her but the feelings brought by them would not rule her. With or without Ani, she would always be her own person, and maybe that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so so much for reading, it means the world to me! (Padmé deserves to feel better, pass it on) (I’ll fight you if you disagree) [puts up fists]


	8. Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Dark. Canon-typical violence/death/killing, depression, abuse, a suicidal thought or two. Not sure any of it’s triggering but it’s always better to be safe than sorry.
> 
> This chapter takes place over about five to six months.

The brightness of an overhead light blared through closed eyelids. He raised his right hand to his face to block it, cold metal fingers pressing against his skin. He opened his eyes, squinting against the light, and looked around. He was lying on a table, covered only by a light blanket. To his own confusion, he found everything was different, wrong – the walls were black instead of silver, green lamps imbedded into the walls cast an eerie glow in contrast to the sterile, impersonal kind of lighting from before. He must have been moved, but when? A moment later, he shrugged it off. Honestly, it probably didn’t matter.

Everything still hurt. His head, his chest – if he hadn’t known better, he would have thought his metal arm hurt, too. And he could not, for the life of him, remember what his name was.

It hurt to think, so he didn’t. It hurt to be alive. He wished he wasn’t.

After he lay there a while, aching and hungry and anxious, with barely enough will to lift his head, a door slid open and he couldn’t help but cringe, turning on his side and curling in on himself. A man in a dark hooded robe approached him and looked down at him with yellow eyes shining in his shadowy face, then touched gnarled fingers to his forehead.

“How do you feel today, Vader?”

He screwed up his face in confusion. No one ever talked to him, they just abused and tortured and experimented on him, so why was this person doing so now, and who the hell was Vader?

“Have you forgotten so soon?” the old man said. His voice was sort of like a croak. “I have explained this to you already. You will have to work on your ability to remember. My troops found you in an enemy base just days ago and brought you here to me. My name is Darth Sidious. And you...are Vader.”

It bothered him more than it should that the name ‘Sidious’ struck more of a chord with him than ‘Vader’ did, especially if Vader was the name he’d been searching for this whole time. But Sidious...something about that name sent a chill up his spine....

“Tell me,” Sidious said. “Do you remember anything of who you are?” He – Vader? – shook his head. Sidious nodded slowly, putting his hands together on the table. “Very well; I thought not. There will be much time in the future to tell you what you need to know. For now, I will only remind you of that which is most important: this is that you are one of the most proficient Force-users in the galaxy, second perhaps only to me. Do you at least remember the Force?”

The Force? _Oh_ , the Force, how – how could he _ever_ have forgotten the Force? The incredible, powerful, _beautiful_ energy field that bound the universe together. He couldn’t feel it now, he realized, and he didn’t know why that was, but he wanted it back. He nodded yes to the question.

“Good,” Sidious said. “Then your recovery should go most swiftly indeed. When the time comes, I shall begin training you in the dark side as I see fit.” Then, with a wicked, unpleasant smile, he added, “Soon, you will begin to call me ‘Master’....”

* * *

In the mirror, Vader saw a gaunt and pale figure with thin, ragged hair and tired blue eyes. He was covered in bruises and his skin was riddled with scars that looked like they had healed badly. His whole body looked strange and misshapen from months of muscle atrophy and he barely had the strength or will even to sit up. Overall, he was a pathetic, thin, lumpy-looking figure who could hardly move and wouldn’t have been able to take care of himself even if they let him try.

And he was always scared. Scared scared scared. Mostly, it was the doctors that took care of him that set him off. The sight of them had him sweating, squirming, and their touch made his heart pound. They were different people – he thought, anyway, he sort of had a lot of trouble with faces – from the ones who had electrocuted him, but they acted the same. Impersonal, like he was a test subject. Well, he guessed, maybe that wasn’t wrong. Regardless, he honestly felt pretty detached from the idea that Sidious had _rescued him_ – from where? And where was this? For some reason, he had a feeling no one would tell him so he didn’t bother to ask.

It was strange. He hated this, but he also sort of didn’t care. Even if he wanted to resist, he wouldn’t. Whatever these people were going to do to him was going to happen no matter what he wanted, so he might as well just go along with it to make it a little less painful. Right?

* * *

He was slumped in a chair, staring out a window at a great canyon littered with trees and greenery, stupidly amazed at the image of nature, when Sidious entered the room, followed by a taller, even older man with a white beard who eyed Vader with obvious distaste.

“Are you sure that... _this_ ,” the older man said, gesturing toward Vader with his fingers, “Is the best material from which to make a Sith, my lord?”

“He is young, and soon he will be strong again. Be patient, Lord Tyranus. I feel sure that Vader could learn much from your advice.” Finally, Sidious turned to Vader. “This is Lord Tyranus, leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems and my Sith apprentice. If ever I am absent, you will listen to and obey him as you would me.” The sides of his mouth curled into the wicked smile he favored. “I will leave you with him now. Listen well to what he has to tell you.”

Sidious left, and Vader looked away, sort of trying to figure out what a Sith was supposed to be without actually asking the question. Tyranus drawled, “You are currently located in my palace on Serenno. While you are my guest, I expect that you will treat me with the utmost respect and obey all commands I direct at you.” Then, he added, “Are you mute, young Vader?”

“No,” Vader said, his voice cracking from disuse. He could talk just fine, probably, if he wanted to – but, well, nothing he said ever seemed to matter to anyone, so why would he bother starting now?

Tyranus said coldly, “You will soon find that my master does not accept failure, and I warn you that any weakness you show before him _will_ be taken as such. I will also warn you that I do not hold the blind faith in your abilities that my master does. I will be watching you very carefully.”

He left, too, and Vader, relieved to be alone again, looked back out the window, feeling nothing.

* * *

It seemed like forever before Vader was able to walk like a normal human being. He and his, well, physical therapists? would do it a little bit each day, along with other exercises to fix his neglected body. It was tiresome, exhausting, but still they pushed him, not knowing that he would rather be doing nothing than anything at all. But, he knew, he didn’t have a choice, so he ate what they told him to eat and slept when they told him to sleep and worked out when they told him to work out and eventually, finally, his body looked less bony and he had a little bit more energy and he didn’t feel like dying quite as much as he had before.

* * *

“It is time I tell you what you need to know about your past,” Sidious said from the throne of Tyranus’s palace, peering down at Vader. “When you have understood why this happened to you, only then will you be ready to access the Force again and begin training to be a Sith.”

Access to the Force...it sounded like a dream he’d been having for months and months and months. Being without the Force was like being blind, like existing in the universe without really seeing it, and being without memory left him perpetually sad and cold and alone and afraid. Honestly, sort of, he didn’t care about his past, if he had really even had one. Right now, he only cared about the Force.

Sidious began his story, saying Vader had been something called a Jedi Knight from the Galactic Republic. “The Jedi,” Sidious explained, “Are a group of fanatic, dogmatic, hypocritical monks who claim that they are selflessly serving the Republic when in actuality they serve no one but themselves. The Jedi are currently initiating a war against the Confederacy of Independent Systems, which broke off from their Republic over two years ago to escape the corruption. When I have deemed that you are ready, it will be your duty to help Tyranus and I destroy the Jedi and bring about Sith control over both the Republic and the entire galaxy.”

Controlling an entire galaxy? If he had to be honest, that was one of the _last_ things Vader wanted the responsibility of doing, but he wasn’t going to tell that to Sidious. He kept his face blank, uneven, as Sidious went on, explaining something about the history of the Sith and the injustice of the Jedi, something else about the something of the Confederate Senate, and a bunch of something else’s that Vader had absolutely lost track of by this point. He tried to blink, force his attention on the words, but it was useless. If he had to be honest, he didn’t even remotely care about these Jedi or any war or the power structures of the Confederacy of Independent Systems and the corruption in the Galactic Republic. Damn, he just wanted the _Force._

“Now perhaps you are wondering why you personally must fight the Jedi,” Sidious said, and finally Vader found he could pay attention. “The answer is this: the only reason that you suffered such great injuries in the first place was because the Jedi allowed this to happen. You see, you are naturally more sensitive to the Force than any of their Order, and they were so afraid of your power that they knowingly assigned you to a mission that would inevitably end in either capture or death. In essence, they willingly left you to die. It’s possible, I think, that they encouraged it. In a way, your memories were taken because they feared your power so much. When the time comes, I will give you an opportunity to seek revenge against them and strike at their very heart.”

Vader cleared the hoarseness from his throat and said, “I understand.”

Sidious smiled cruelly. “Then it is time that you have access to the Force again.”

* * *

He could feel it. The Force. It was pulsing through his veins, humming in every cell of his body, swirling around him like tendrils of warmth and light and comfort, like darkness and coldness and terror, like love and hatred and black and white and all the colors of the rainbow. Where he had been tethered with an iron bolt to the bottom of an ocean, now he was free to float through outer space.

Vader withdrew from the universe around him like Sidious had taught him to do, absent from the Force sense of others, an ancient Sith technique of the dark side. Truthfully, he didn’t really _care_ about light or dark, Jedi or Sith, all he cared about was that now he had the Force, he _had_ it, he could feel it and he would rather die than ever let it go again.

It was all he could think about, it was all-consuming. He sat on the floor of his room, playing with the Force like a child with its toys, levitating a dulled knife with his mind, spinning it in circles in the air between his flesh and metal hands. Tyranus and Sidious watched him from a distance, and Vader heard Tyranus say, “He is too undisciplined. He has no commitment.”

“We will teach him discipline, Lord Tyranus. His power is ours, and he has finally unlocked it.”

Vader paid them no mind. Instead, he reached out and levitated a tray, then the table he slept on, then any other loose items in the room, closing his eyes as he actually _enjoyed_ himself for the first time in...well, forever.

* * *

With the Force back, Vader found himself full of energy, or maybe it was just a rush of adrenaline but that didn’t really matter to him. He spent a lot of time working out, a little bit more every day, feeling the burn in his finally functioning body, sweating out all the bad feelings. His body was still in pain most of the time and he got these  _unbearable_ headaches sometimes, but if he could just find a way to ignore it (he couldn’t, but he sure as hell tried) then he could almost pretend that everything in his life was actually okay.

It did sort of freak him out, though, how sometimes Sidious would watch him from the shadows as he exercised, as if he were _waiting_ for something....

* * *

Sidious gave him a lightsaber, silver and cylindrical and familiar even to the touch of his metal hand, as if it belonged there. When Vader ignited it, it had a red blade, and that felt  _wrong_ somehow, like the combination of this hilt and crystal was mismatched. Shrugging it off, he gave it a few practice swings, testing it, trying different stances, thinking that for once, what he was doing actually felt kind of  _right._

A MagnaGuard came at him, his first real challenge after a few pointless sessions with a blaster remote to brush up on...well, for all he knew it could have been years without a lightsaber. The truth: he hadn’t needed to. He was ready to go. Even through months of memory loss and torture, they couldn’t take his raw _skill_ away from him. Or, at least, that was what he had thought until one end of the MagnaGuard’s dual-sided electrostaff punched into his gut and the next thing he knew, he was lying on a hard examining table, confused and exhausted, with burns on his bare chest and doctors pressing hypos into his skin.

When Sidious came later, Vader heard the doctors informing him of the observations they had ascertained after hours of studying ‘the patient’: warning signs of epilepsy and chronic pain. Wait, was that supposed to be news?

“The most likely cause is all the neurological damage from being repeatedly subjected to electric shocks, my lord,” Vader heard a faceless doctor say. “There are medications to prevent seizures, and he may benefit from a variety of different painkillers –”

“I care not for his pain,” Sidious’s voice croaked. “Painkillers would make him less efficient. You will medicate him only on anything that may interfere with his ability to fight.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

Vader could hardly move, lethargic as he was from the seizure, but his head had cleared up enough to understand and he tightened his jaw and clenched his mechanical hand so hard the feedback sent a shooting pain up his arm. Less efficient? What was he, a droid? A tool? A slave? That thought made him angry and he didn’t completely know why, but it was probably because for the first time in his memory Vader had the ability to walk and fight and work out and use the Force and yet all he was to Sidious was just a servant?

Sidious looked at him sharply, sensing the nature of his thoughts, and said, “Yes, you are my servant. I am the one who rescued you, am I not? Am I not the one who is allowing you to unlock your potential?”

Through clenched teeth, Vader said, “Yes.”

“I told you to call me ‘Master.’”

Vader was shaking with fury, and maybe something else. “Yes, _Master._ ”

Sidious approached him, towering over him. His yellow eyes bore through the shadows from his hood, straight into Vader, who shivered involuntarily and lowered his eyes. “I am aware that I have encouraged you to embrace your anger, Vader. It is the way of the dark side. However, I expect you to treat me with respect if you wish for me to allow you continued access to the Force. Unless you wish that I take it away from you instead?”

“ _No!”_ Vader said too quickly, trying to sit up too suddenly and fogging up his head in the process. He slumped back on the table, grimacing. It was all he could do to plead, “Please don’t take it away...”

“Sith do not beg,” Sidious said harshly. “They take what is theirs. You have not taken full control of your power. When you do, you will be most valuable to me, but until then, if you do not feel you are willing....” He trailed off, letting his words speak for themselves.

An image flashed in Vader’s mind of the pain, the loneliness, the desperation of not being able to feel the Force. “No, Master. I need it, I – I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Then you will not speak to me in that way again,” Sidious warned before he left Vader, shivering and alone.

* * *

All of a sudden, he seemed to always be kind of dizzy, and all of the time he just felt kind of weird and generally unwell. He guessed that it might have had something to do with the mystery hypos they injected him with every day, and he tried to draw on the Force to make it go away, but no one seemed to care that he wobbled whenever he stood and that he kept throwing up so he just tried to ignore it like they did.

And that wasn’t the worst of it. Sometimes, Vader woke up with crippling headaches. Other times, the pain came on throughout the day, starting out with weird fuzzy spots that he couldn’t rub out of his eyes and slowly amounting to the point where moving even an inch was agony. Regardless, his master demanded he continue with his training exercises no matter how many times he fell, clutching at his head as if trying to keep the pieces of his skull from falling apart.

“Your pain is irrelevant to me,” Sidious said coldly. “If you were facing a Jedi in the field, they would not take pity on you because of some pathetic headaches. They would kill you, mercilessly and without hesitation. You must not let them have the advantage over you. You must kill them first. Do it again.”

“Yes, Master,” Vader said, and reignited his lightsaber, trying to push the thought of _this isn’t just a headache_ out of his head so that his perceptive master wouldn’t catch it. The training MagnaGuards came at him again, pressing the assault. He deflected their blows and blocked and parried, trying to ignore the tears in his eyes and the stabbing ache in his skull.

Another burst of pain, and with a groan his sabre slipped out of his hand. The MagnaGuards, programmed to simulate real world possibilities, thrust their electrostaffs into his stomach. His muscles contracted and he fell to the ground and when the droids pulled their staffs away, he was too nauseous and dizzy to move. Sidious left him there, curled up on the cold floor alone with nothing but the ache in his head to keep him company, saying, “If those had been Jedi lightsabers you would be dead.”

* * *

Vader walked behind some of his...well, ‘caretaker’ would probably be the right word for these two, through dark halls and then into the grand main chamber of the palace. Tyranus stood there, and Sidious sat behind the desk, his dark hooded cloak camouflaging all but his white face against the chair. The caretakers left, and a sense of ominous anticipation lingered in the Force. Vader walked before them and knelt – courtesy, protocol, who cares, just please don’t punish him again for whatever he must have done wrong....

Sidious looked down at him. “I have decided to test your skills further,” he said. “You will duel with Tyranus, perhaps the greatest swordsman in the galaxy. There shall be no killing, although I do expect some scrapes may occur.”

Glancing around, Vader stood, holding his lightsaber. Did he think he would be able to beat Tyranus? Well, no, not really, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. Tyranus had an evil glint in his eyes, brandishing his blade in some form Vader didn’t really recognize. Vader decided to make the first move: he spun his sabre in his hand once and then came at Tyranus, who caught Vader’s red blade with his own and twisted it away with a move of his arm. Vader tried again, coming at him in a hard chop from above, but Tyranus took a side step and left Vader cutting through air.

“You have no form,” Tyranus said. He had his left arm behind him as if he expected this would be effortless. “You cannot conquer a Jedi if you have no form.”

Again, Vader threw his sabre into a chop, but Tyranus seemed to almost flick it away and in a flash, _tap_ , Tyranus’s blade touched Vader’s human arm; it was the lightest of motions but _echuta_ , it hurt like all hell. Vader’s mechanical hand dropped the lightsaber and came instinctively to the wound, but of course the metal pressed too hard and it hurt even more. An agonized sound escaped him and he bent over, backing away.

Tyranus deactivated his sabre and placed it on his belt. “You fight me like you fight your droids,” he said. “Your skills are unrefined and careless. Against a Jedi, you would not survive.”

Honestly, Vader thought as he was taken back to his room and given a bacta patch to stop infection, he didn’t really give a damn because his arm hurt hurt hurt so bad. As he lay down, cursing the Sith and Tyranus and everything else, though, he decided that he was pretty tired of being pushed around and demonstrated as weak and that he was going to step up and take the damn power that Sidious was offering him. He was _not_ weak, at least not by design, and he would prove it.

* * *

Time passed, and against the MagnaGuards Vader  _thrived_ . Three against one, another already dismantled on the floor, his lightsaber was a part of him just like his mechanical arm was. Tyranus called it barbaric, revolting that a human could be part machine, but  _he_ didn’t know that Vader could feel the Force flowing through the spot at his elbow where flesh met metal all the way to the tip of his glowing red blade as an extension of himself. His lightsaber knocked one droid’s electrostaff out of his way and a second later the droid was sparking on the floor. A minute later, two more droids joined it.

Vader wiped sweat off his forehead with one hand, deflecting a blaster bolt with his other. The combat training regimens were tough, but he got better at them every day. He had no positive feelings towards Sidious, especially not after that ‘less efficient’ comment – he was a _person_ for kriff’s sake, not a damn droid or, Force forbid, a _slave_ – but, Vader had to admit he was grateful for the power that Sidious had given him. More accurately, had unleashed from within him.

With the MagnaGuards down, he felt almost bored. Blaster bolts, blaster bolts, what else could they throw at him? He could take it. It had been a month (well, he was pretty sure, the passage of time generally eluded him) since his fight with Tyranus, and he was stronger than ever before. His muscles were back, he didn’t get as tired as he used to – he was _powerful._

Not that he felt great. Or even remotely _good_ , for that matter. If he wasn’t forced to, wasn’t under constant threat of Sidious hurting him or removing the one thing that Vader felt he could actually rely on, he was pretty sure he might not have the will to get up when they woke him every morning. If it weren’t for cutting down droids and working out to distract him from his pain, Vader was pretty sure he would be pretty dissatisfied with being alive at all.

* * *

Before him again, Tyranus stood, brandishing his sabre. Vader was ready this time; Tyranus was what, seventy? Maybe older.  _Old_ . Probably brittle, under his dainty exterior. Surely no match for a – um, how old was Vader? Okay, he didn’t know that either, but it didn’t matter. Young enough that taking down Tyranus should be no problem, if he had done his training right.

This fight lasted longer than the first had. Vader came at him, reacting quicker to Tyranus’s sharp movements, using his body and all his strength to gain momentum and pushing his offensive against the old man. It was very possible he may have been a tad too confident, however, because suddenly he moved the wrong way and _tap_ went Tyranus’s blade into his mechanical arm. Vader’s right hand sprung open and he couldn’t move the fingers, sparks were flying from the cut, and it took all of Vader’s meager concentration skills to avoid a second cut higher on his arm by ducking and rolling away.

With his left hand, he reached out with the Force to grab his fallen lightsaber, but even as it came to his hand and activated, it took Tyranus only a few strokes to flip the sabre again out of Vader’s hand and another to press a cut into Vader’s thigh. His leg gave out immediately, and he fell with a harsh grunt to his hands and knees, but his inoperative metal hand wouldn’t support him and he collapsed on the ground in a heap at Tyranus’s feet.

In the background, Sidious laughed his awful, hacking laugh and Tyranus said, “You are a beast. You should be grateful I did not sever that disgusting droid arm instead of only breaking it.”

With a growl in the back of his throat, Vader reached up with his left hand to close the Force around Tyranus’s throat, but the older Sith was quicker: he flicked his hand as if he were brushing a bug off his sleeve and Vader was thrown back across the floor, panting.

Sidious stood from his throne and walked over to them, still grinning. “Good, good.”

“He has no discipline, my lord,” Tyranus said, looking down at Vader on the floor like a revolting animal.

“That is true,” Sidious said. “I shall make his training more strict. I do believe I have something in mind that will make him even more powerful....”

* * *

Outside, at dusk, Vader ran. Running felt good, made him feel energized, and the rare days that he could do it without his head pounding terribly were one of the few blessings he had. The air was cool but his clothes were warm and he was sweating. He felt the burn. He couldn’t leave the premises, but being outside at all was a gift. He was sure not to act like it though. If they knew that he  _liked_ it, they would take it away.

He stopped running as the cut in his leg ached again and his knee threatened to give out. It would heal, he knew, eventually, as the wound on his arm had, but it made working out hard and running harder.

Catching his breath, he looked around. The sky was pretty. The fresh, foresty air smelled good. The scurrying sound of little animals felt _real._ The greenery made him want to escape. He was too afraid to try.

* * *

“It is time for you to demonstrate to me that you are capable of executing whatever tasks I demand of you. For your first test, you will kill this prisoner from a recently won Confederate colony in the Outer Rim.”

Vader heard the last words as if through a filter. The fear of the quivering Twi’lek woman who knelt on the floor, restrained by two battle droids, was overwhelming his senses, her terror driving white-hot knives straight into him. What? Kill her? Why? He frowned at his master. “What has she done?”

“You should not require a reason to obey my orders,” Sidious said sharply. “Kill her. Now.”

Vader looked between the wide, pleading brown eyes of the Twi’lek and the heartless yellow ones of his master. “I don’t understand.”

Sidious surveyed him. “I believe you do,” he said. “Your _feelings_ are misplaced. This pathetic alien does not deserve your pity. She is a lesser being, one that we have conquered, and now it is time that she die.”

A lump was in Vader’s throat, and he bit his lip. No, his feelings were certainly _not_ misplaced, because this woman had done absolutely nothing wrong and didn’t deserve to be murdered in cold blood – she didn’t even deserve the pain of kneeling here listening to them _talk_ about murdering her in cold blood. This was so wrong, Vader couldn’t – Vader _wouldn’t –_

“I sense your defiance,” Sidious said, his tone strangely light. “Very well. I had hoped you had come farther than this, but if I must....” With a slight movement of his hand, four MagnaGuards burst into movement at the same time, igniting their electrostaffs in one swift motion, pointing them directly at Vader.

The Twi’lek’s fear forgotten, all Vader could feel was his own, swelling inside him, in his heart and chest and stomach. The yellowish crackles of electricity fizzled in the air, they were coming closer, Vader froze and remembered – _remembered –_ being strapped to a chair as they – when they – they were getting closer – they were three meters away, and they would take everything Vader had left – two meters, every time he was electrocuted by those staffs he had a migraine for two days – one, one meter, one meter one meter one meter –

“ _No,_ no, I’ll do it, I’ll do it, I’ll do it,” he stammered, taking a stumbling step back. The electrostaffs, still ignited, came to a standstill, and the MagnaGuards lifted them away. Taking a gasping breath, Vader’s hands shook so badly he had to hold his lightsaber with both. The Twi’lek woman shook her head frantically, pleading to him with her eyes. Her hands were bound before her and she tried to pull herself away from the droids that restrained her, her eyes were brown and her skin was green and now her fear was just as tangible as his own, he was getting closer, he was sure she felt towards him what he did towards the MagnaGuards, she must have hated and feared and reviled him, he was about to become an evil horrible _murderer_ and he was doing it by choice –

– and Vader was sure that for his entire life, even if something else happened and he forgot every single thing he had ever known, he was positive that he would always remember what her dead body looked like on the ground.

* * *

Alone in his room, Vader curled up in a corner, his human fingers twisted in his hair.

He had _killed_ that woman. Murdered her. _Felt her die._ He had willingly walked across that room and cut her down. On purpose. For his own stupid self. Because why? Because he was afraid of a little bit of pain? Because his master was cruel. Why was Sidious even his master? Vader didn’t have to put up with this. So why did he? He didn’t know. Probably because he was so, so scared, all the time, all the _damn time_ , couldn’t he just go _one second_ without being _so scared_ –

_You killed her._

Maybe...maybe it was for the best. She probably would have died anyway, right? And death by lightsaber was quick. Maybe painless, even. How else would she have died, if he hadn’t been the one to do it?

He shook his head vigorously to rid himself of the thought and buried his face in his knees. _Merciful_? That was the stupidest thought he’d probably ever have. Killing people isn’t merciful. It’s just _wrong._

_But you did it anyway._

How many more people was Sidious going to make him kill? It wasn’t like there would only be one. The Jedi, probably, whoever they even were. At the moment, Vader didn’t care. Nothing really mattered. Nothing, at all. Because he was a killer, there was no other way to put it. He killed that woman to save himself.

He wished _he_ was dead. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. Not ever again.

But would he?

He didn’t want to find out.

* * *

Another body on the ground. A tendril of smoke rose from the wound. An alien species that Vader didn’t know – well he did but he couldn’t remember the name. It didn’t really matter, anyway, he supposed as he stared down at the body. Nothing seemed to matter in this damn universe.

That body was dragged away and another was brought in by a pair of droids. A child, this time, staring at the other one, then staring at Vader. The frightened and hating look pierced right through him like the blistering winds of an ice planet, and Vader definitely deserved it.

“Do it, Vader,” Sidious said from behind him. “Do it so that you can have power. Do it so that I do not have to take the Force away from you.”

But he didn’t want to. He really, really didn’t want to. _Remember that emptiness_ , a voice said inside his head. _Remember not being able to walk or feed or clothe yourself? That will be you if you don’t kill this child right now, Sidious will make sure of that._

But it wasn’t that _simple_ , he thought.

_It is if you let it be,_ the imaginary voice said. And yes, he supposed, that was true.

A heavy breath, the tightening of his metal hand, the hissing ignition of the red blade, the pang in the Force of a life being ripped out of a body, and it was done. Another one dead. Another one being brought in.

_Just don’t think about it_ , the voice said. _He won’t hurt you if you do what he says._

But that wasn’t true, because every time Sidious made Vader kill something he was hurting him.

_That pain will go away_.

Vader hoped so, too, as he cut down another body.

* * *

It sort of felt like something was chiseling away at him, breaking off outer shells of emotional vulnerability that he’d had for a long time. He used to cry a lot, he remembered, when whoever it was took his memories away. He’d been a pathetic, useless mushy  _mess_ back then, scared and confused and afraid and weak and powerless.

Now...now he _was_ power.

It was sick, logically he knew it was sick, that he could kill all these people and not feel anything. But that was just it – he kept killing them and not feeling _anything_. No remorse, no shame, nothing. How many prisoners had he even killed by now? He sort of wished he had been keeping track. Maybe he had been for a while and forgotten about it. He couldn’t remember anything, after all. It could have been two dozen, or a hundred, or more. He really didn’t know. He really didn’t think he wanted to. It was so much easier that way.

* * *

Once again, Tyranus stood before him, brandishing his sabre like he always did. Briefly, Vader thought about the last times, thought about the cuts on his arms and leg. Thought about the humiliation and degradation. That, he decided, would not happen this time. Not again.

He decided to make the first move, only it would be on his terms. He tried a few practice swings, which as expected Tyranus deflected effortlessly. A few more. A few more. Tyranus thought he still had the upper hand, Vader could see it in his eyes, could feel his gleam of confidence in the Force. Vader would have to show him how wrong he was.

With both his hands gripping his hilt, Vader pushed Tyranus’s blade to the side, pretending, just pretending, that he was making a clumsy move, that he didn’t know what he was doing. Tyranus smirked. Their sabres met in midair, locking. Vader gave way to Tyranus, only by an inch. Pushed his sword away. Faked a grunt.

Tyranus took a step back, and said, “Clumsy and weak as ever, young Vader? It appears you have not made as much progress as I have heard.”

Then, Vader flipped his lightsaber around his hand and took a quick step toward Tyranus, pushing all his strength into an overhand cut. Tyranus caught it, took another step back from the force of it, moved his blade up but Vader’s was there, too, catching it, pushing it back. That was just it. Vader was pushing him back, and back, and back, throwing all his energy and all his concentration into the swings of his lightsaber.

It caught Tyranus off-guard, Vader could see it in his eyes though he tried to hide it. Vader was strong, and with the Force behind him, Tyranus’s aged defense was no match. Vader pushed and pushed, met Tyranus’s blade wherever the old man put it, he locked it in midair and threw it so violently to the side that it slipped out of Tyranus’s hand. Vader pulled it to his left hand and pointed both blades at Tyranus, an inch away from his neck.

And it was over, Sidious’s laugh told him so. “Very good, Vader,” his master said, walking down the steps to meet them. “Most excellent. You have learned a great deal.”

Vader listened, and stared into Tyranus’s eyes. They had fear in them, and Vader reveled in it, and they were surprised. Vader deactivated the sabres and threw Tyranus’s across the floor. Then, he turned to Sidious and said, “Thank you, Master.”

“You have become most powerful,” said Sidious, appraising him. “Very few people are a match for Lord Tyranus. You have proven yourself most worthy. I believe you are ready.”

“For what, Master?”

Sidious flashed his ugly grin. “To begin killing Jedi.”

* * *

Vader didn’t look in the mirror often, didn’t like the look of his haunted figure staring back at him, but one day he took a glimpse and frowned because hadn’t his eyes been blue? They had been, he was sure of it, his memory couldn’t have been so bad to forget the color of his own eyes, but there he was, gaunt and yellow-eyed and clothed in black. His hair still looked thin and brittle and he looked generally unwell, he still felt sick and empty all the time, but Sidious seemed to think he was ready to leave Serenno nonetheless.

His master’s gnarled hands handed him a mask. It was black and skeletal-looking, apparently molded around his features although he didn’t remember when they could have done that. It matched a set of clothes that had been designed for him, the top part form-fitting and made of synth leather, with a plate of armor that went across his shoulders.

“This mask will conceal your identity from those who we do not yet want to recognize you,” Sidious said, his mouth curling into a smile as Vader put it on. “The Jedi cannot be permitted to know who you are. If they did, they may try to take you back to their temple with them. They may even kill you, thinking you betrayed them. Certainly they would be less fair to you than I have been.”

Vader nodded, and Sidious continued, “You will leave with a Confederate ship, which will transport you and several battalions of droids to Felucia. Currently deployed there is a Jedi Master named Leth Chen. This should be a relatively easy target for your first Jedi kill. You will kill him and report to me.”

“Yes, Master.”

“In the meantime, I have other duties to which I must attend,” Sidious said. “You are not to contact me unless it is to give me your report on killing the Jedi. Do you understand?”

“I do, Master.”

Sidious smiled. “Good. Go then, Vader, and do what must be done.”

* * *

Thousands of bodies swarmed the battlefield. Some droid, some organic, some sparking on the ground and some dead. The Jedi’s blue lightsaber was not easy to distinguish among the hundreds of identically colored blaster bolts. In the Force, however, color was irrelevant. In the Force, the battlefield was like a candlelight vigil around a bonfire. Each clone was a flame flickering in the wind, and but the Jedi amongst them burned bright and the light they cast was like a beacon. Especially on Felucia, where the Force was thick as a dense fog, it was an easy task for Vader to duck around clones and under massive tree leaves and to jump the Jedi from behind.

If Vader had to be entirely honest with himself, he didn’t really remember killing the Jedi. It had only taken a minute or two, he thought, but even when it was done and the body lay at his feet Vader never stopped moving, deflecting blaster bolts back at clones in what felt more like another training exercise than anything.

He liked fighting. It was hot here, just like he liked it, though he could do without the humidity, and the heat of battle made it so that he didn’t have to think. Not about the way the Jedi’s death had felt like a punch in his gut, or the way the Force had seemed to whine in protest of the death of one of its own. Strangely, even as photon shells collided with bioluminescent Felucian trees, even as clone after clone and droid after droid dropped around him, fighting was like a welcome relief.

* * *

He didn’t exactly know what his position and rank were. High enough that the droids followed his orders if he ever gave them, although he could see in Tyranus’s face that the older Sith was not pleased about these arrangements. Vader himself certainly didn’t care about commanding, he just wanted to be  _out there_ , watching exploded tanks and gunships and fortified encampments light up the night like fireworks. He breathed it. He lived it. The sweat and the burn and the heat of the action. Out here, the pain didn’t matter. Out here, he didn’t have to remember.

It was almost, kind of, sort of funny how he, the man who couldn’t remember anything, actually had things he wanted to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and to those of you who have commented! The next chapter will be up in three weeks!


	9. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy hey! This chapter cycles through all four main POVs, and then there's a bonus section from Dooku's POV at the end that you can read if you want. Enjoy!

I. AHSOKA

The holorecording was grainy, but the image was clear enough to make out. It was a battlefield, that much Ahsoka could tell, though she didn’t recognize the planet. Somewhere rocky and barren, which didn’t narrow the list down very much. The footage didn’t seem particularly noteworthy, if she had to be honest. It belonged maybe in one of those HoloNet newsreel documentaries about the Jedi and the war effort, not in the main communications center of the temple for a hundred odd Jedi to be watching. That was what she thought, anyway, until the image zoomed in on what was unmistakably two figures, each flashing a lightsaber (one green and one red) and engaged in a duel to the death. It didn’t last very long. The Jedi never had a chance. The image lingered on the killer – a tall humanoid clothed in all dark, form-fitting clothes – before the clone that shot the footage was hit by a blaster bolt and the holocam fell to the ground.

Mace Windu shut down the recording and raised the lights in the room with a wave of his hand. “This footage,” he said, his tone grave, “Was taken by a clone during a recent battle on Abraxus. It was recorded seven standard days ago and was discovered in the holocam yesterday after the clone who took it was killed. After careful analysis, we have come to the conclusion that this figure is most likely Dooku’s long-awaited replacement for either General Grievous, Asajj Ventress, or both.”

Careful analysis? Ahsoka didn’t need careful analysis to tell her that a Jedi-killer with a red lightsaber was a Sith apprentice, or assassin, or...whatever Ventress had been. She shivered involuntarily.

“At least four separate clone reports from the scene of the battle indicate that the droids were overheard referring to someone by the name of ‘Vader,’ so for now we will operate under the assumption that Vader and the figure in the recording are one and the same.”

Now Yoda stepped forward, hobbling like there was a heavy weight on his shoulders, leaning hard on his walking stick. “The first Jedi that this Vader has killed, Master Tinlar was not. At least one more there has been, Master Leth Chen, on Felucia. A great threat, and a great mystery, this new enemy is. Be careful you all must be, if leave Coruscant for any reason you do.”

“Until we can determine a pattern in Vader’s attacks and appearances, we must be extremely careful,” Windu said. “For the time being, we will be making every effort to assign at least two Jedi to every mission. Unfortunately, our forces are spread too thin as it is, and this will not always be possible.”

“If go into the field you do, keep your sense of the Force open. Trust in the Force we must, to protect us from this new threat.” Yoda stood still for a moment, blinking, and then said, “May the Force be with us all.”

Around her, Jedi began leaving, whispering amongst themselves, worry etched clear into some of their faces. The ones less experienced with Jedi stoicism, Ahsoka guessed. She glanced at Master Kenobi, who had his hand on his beard and looked wearied beyond his years. She didn’t blame him; what was the point of Grievous – of Anakin – dying if now there was just some stupid new Sith to replace him?

* * *

II. OBI-WAN

Obi-Wan didn’t exactly know why he was standing in the Supreme Chancellor’s office, listening to Yoda welcome the man back after four or five months of absence, when really it felt like he should be _out there_ , tracking down this new Separatist threat and striking Dooku another blow that he desperately deserved. It was a terribly downbeat thought, and Obi-Wan shouldn’t have been having it here of all places – well, he shouldn’t have been having it at all, because revenge was most certainly _not_ the Jedi way, but in between the week’s time when he first saw the holorecording and now, Vader had somehow struck down yet another Jedi so it was just a tad difficult to abide by the revenge rule.

He fought a sigh. When had he become like this?

In reality, Palpatine was saying, “Thank you, thank you, Master Yoda. I am most glad to be back, and not a moment too soon. I have, of course, been informed of this ‘Vader’. A frightening spectre to say the least. Have you any information on them?”

Yoda gripped his walking stick with both hands and frowned as his response.

“It is quite a shame,” Palpatine continued. “As if we need another new threat against the Jedi. Still, I am confident that your graces will be able to put a stop to Vader. I still have a great deal of faith in the Jedi.”

“Might I inquire as to your health, Chancellor?” Mace said, bravely if Obi-Wan had to admit it.

“I am doing quite well, Master Windu,” Palpatine said sincerely, putting his fingers together on his desk. Then, he glanced around the room as if checking for unwanted ears and added, hushed, “As you can understand, I can hardly speak of this in the public sphere, but it is justified that the Jedi Council be informed. I had been unwell for quite some time – not anything to interfere with my work, I assure you, but my physicians all recommended that I take time to rest that I not come down with anything that may have inflicted my ability as a politician. The respite did me quite well, and in fact I feel better than I have in years. Quite ready to tackle politics again.”

Windu bowed slightly, and the masters exchanged a few parting words with the Chancellor. When Obi-Wan turned to leave, Palpatine, quite unexpectedly, stopped him. When Obi-Wan turned back, the Chancellor had somehow changed in appearance from a proud politician to a weary old man.

“Master Kenobi, I’ve never had a chance to tell you how sorry I was about what happened to Anakin. He was quite a dear friend to me, as you know. In fact, I would hardly be surprised if the loss of him is part of what made me so ill. I simply cannot imagine how this past year has been for you.”

Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably where he stood. Yes, the man had been Anakin’s _quite dear friend_ , and Obi-Wan had never exactly approved. He certainly didn’t now. And the wound from his loss of Anakin would never heal, if only because people kept jabbing at it.

Force, Obi-Wan still missed him so much it ached.

“Thank you, Chancellor,” he said formally. “It has not been easy.” He bowed, hopefully respectfully, and tried not to rush out the door when Palpatine’s dismissal was clear.

A quite different type of politician met him on his way out. Padmé’s eyes lit up when she saw him, and Obi-Wan found himself smiling when she hugged him.

“I can’t stay to chat, but you should meet me for dinner later,” she said quickly, beaming. “Bring Ahsoka. Uh, nineteen hundred hours, at the Skysitter, on me!” He could barely nod before she patted him on the shoulder and followed her fellow senators into the Chancellor’s office. She looked good – much better than he felt. The color was back in her cheeks, she looked eager as a young child to work on whatever project she had going at the moment. He was glad. She certainly deserved it.

* * *

III. PADMÉ

It had been a long, long week.

It was all over the HoloNet now. It was the subject of whispers in the Senate halls, the reason for the worried faces on everyone, everywhere. Because like Padmé, everyone was tired. Of the war, of the rising death counts, of the financial crisis, of the fighting and of politics and of waking up in the morning not knowing if today would be the day that everything was lost. Since the end of Grievous, the phrase _the war is finally winding down_ had become an axiom, a universally accepted truth, effectively a slogan for the war itself, and now – well, now had come a confirmation that it wasn’t true.

‘The New Grievous,’ everyone kept calling them. _Vader_ was their name. It sent a chill down Padmé’s spine whenever she thought about it, thought about that image, a shadowy figure with a red lightsaber, standing over the body of a dead Jedi while the horrors of war raged about them. The rumors she had heard so far were absurd – that Vader was a spectre from the underworld, a malevolent incarnation born from all the souls of Jedi who had died in the war. Now, Padmé knew enough about the Jedi religion to debunk that theory, but she couldn’t deny that it did freak her out a little bit.

So prominent was Vader in everyone’s thoughts that Padmé knew their dinnertime conversation would inevitably center around it. Sure enough, Ahsoka was the one who brought it up.

“So did you hear about the new Sith?”

Padmé put down her napkin and sat back. “More times than I can count. It’s all anyone will talk about.”

Ahsoka blinked, and looked awkwardly down at her plate. “Sorry. That’s true. I just figured we couldn’t have this dinner without acknowledging the bantha in the room.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw was tight, but his voice sounded soft. “It’s all right. I’d rather we acknowledge it rather than pretend we’re not all thinking about it.”

“It’s just that you have to wonder what the point is,” Padmé said, distant. “Of course, I _know_ what the point is, it’s ending the war as soon as possible so that people stop having to die, but....”

She looked off into the distance for a while, food abandoned, staring out at the glimmering permacrete and chrome of the city. Eventually, Obi-Wan said, “Padmé?”

She looked at him. “Oh, I – sorry,” she said lamely. “It’s just that I...don’t suppose it ever goes away, does it?”

“What?” Ahsoka said.

“This feeling that I keep getting,” Padmé said, looking down at the empty chair beside her. They were seated at a table meant for four, even though they were only three. She didn’t know how to put exactly what she _was_ feeling. “With the three of us together, it just sort of feels like he should be here right now, doesn’t it.” They both looked away. She felt awful, and a little stupid. She didn’t know why she always felt the need to bring it – him – up.

They sat in silence, picking at their food. After a time, Padmé squared her shoulders and said, “So what was it you were talking about earlier? Mynocks?”

Ahsoka jumped to attention. “Oh yeah, it was crazy, our ship was covered in them, they were suctioned to the viewports and everything. Artoo was wheeling back and forth trying to fix everything, then we had to fly to this planet and they all started exploding, I couldn’t eat for, like, three days....”

* * *

IV. VADER

Vader stared aimlessly out the viewport of his ship. The stars, so far away, felt like home.

Ten Jedi dead, by his hand. He looked down at it. Metal, and as unfeeling as the rest of him. He felt so empty. So apathetic. How many more victims would he have? Who would be next? Did it even matter?

The communications function of the ship finally activated, and Vader had a feeling he was about to get his answer. He took his mask off and knelt on the floor before the hologram of Sidious.

_“I have a new mission for you, Lord Vader,”_ Sidious said from under his hood. His eyes were gleaming with all the passion of the dark side. _“One that will prove to me that you are truly worthy of being my apprentice.”_

“Yes, Master?” Vader said, faking attentiveness.

_“There is an individual Jedi who has been particularly troublesome for us in the past. Both of my previous apprentices have failed to kill him. If you are successful, you will have proven to me that you are more worthy as an apprentice than either of them. Do you feel you are up to the task?”_

“I do, my master.” Actually, he sort of didn’t. He didn’t really _feel_ like anything.

_“Good. His name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Find him, and kill him. At_ all _costs.”_

Vader bowed low, ended the conference, and prepared to do as his master said.

* * *

BONUS SCENE: DOOKU

Dooku stood beside his master as they overlooked the vast canyon of Serenno through the green-tinted glass of the window. Sidious sat in Dooku’s throne, of course; an apprentice must always bow to his master’s will. Sidious had effectively taken Dooku’s palace as his own; an intentional reminder that Dooku was subordinate. Dooku had, of course, expected this from the very moment that his master had revealed the plan to remove Skywalker’s memories, but that did not mean he had looked forward to it with much...enthusiasm.

Furthermore, that cybernetic scum Skywalker was not someone that Dooku _enjoyed_ having around, memory or no. Every time Dooku saw the spot at Skywalker’s elbow where metal melded with human flesh (too often, of late) Dooku sincerely wished that he could return to Geonosis and take the boy’s head instead.

“I plan on having Vader kill Kenobi,” Sidious said suddenly, breaking the silence. Dooku looked down at him. So soon already? It would be risky at any point, but after only six months without his memory? Skywalker and Kenobi had been too close – _disgustingly_ close, in Dooku’s opinion. He vividly recalled being tied to them by those filthy pirates on Florrum, having to sit through their quips and grins and sheer idiocy. If he had not been standing next to his Sith Master, he might have rolled his eyes at the thought.

At least Skywalker did not remember that. It was remarkable, really, the change in the boy. There was something particularly satisfying about turning an insolent Outer Rim pest into a spiritless killer. To be sure, the Sith had tamed him better than the Jedi ever could have hoped to. And to have him kill Kenobi...why, if successful, that might be the most delightful thought Dooku had ever had.

“If it is your wish, then of course, my lord,” Dooku said graciously, “But are you sure it has been long enough? If Skywalker’s memories are reawakened –”

“Skywalker is dead, Lord Tyranus,” Sidious said. Then he looked at Dooku. “Unless you believe you were unsuccessful in your efforts?”

“I was successful, my lord. I simply meant that perhaps Vader should kill more Jedi first, to improve his skills. Kenobi is very talented with a lightsaber.”

“You bested Kenobi, and Vader bested you. I am quite confident he can dispose of Kenobi.”

“And if Kenobi recognizes him?”

“Then I suppose this will be his test,” Sidious said. “Once Kenobi is dead, our greatest obstacle regarding Vader will be destroyed. The time is coming, Lord Tyranus, when our control of the galaxy shall become known and no one will be able to stop us.”

A pleasant thought, but Dooku did not share his master’s confidence. Skywalker – _Vader_ – was not ready for this. Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all readers out there! Big shout out to all of you!! Your support means everything to me!!!
> 
> The next chapter will be up about a week before Christmas, and in my humble opinion it's definitely worth the wait. Until then!


	10. End of the Line

_For the time being, we will be making every effort to assign at least two Jedi to every mission._

Those were Mace’s words weeks before, and yet here Obi-Wan was, unaccompanied by any others outside the 212th. It was hardly himself he was worried for, of course not, but he certainly did _not_ feel comfortable with Ahsoka out of his sight, waiting at the temple for her name to be drawn out of a hat for the next mission the Jedi Council needed spare hands for.

He sighed to himself. Really, he shouldn’t be worrying. Ahsoka was more than capable of handling herself, even against the likes of Dooku’s playthings. Still, the thought of her alone against someone who had killed ten Jedi in a month made him shiver. The idea of losing someone else close to him, after all he had already lost – Qui-Gon, Satine, Anakin – it was just too much. Well, he was only human.

Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes. He was tired, if he had to admit, and he could see that same weariness even in his clones. They had been on Ord Trasi, a dull, sparsely-populated and unremarkable industrial world, for nearly two weeks. The fighting was over, the droids were defeated, but still they lingered to stake out Separatist threats and defend a critical factory that manufactured ships by the thousands. A mission that would have had either of his Padawans jittery and unsatisfied.

He stretched and made his way over to a comm table that had been set up at the main camp, fully expecting the same update he had gotten for the last three days: Nothing yet, General.

“Tricks, come in,” Commander Cody was repeating. “Boxer, do you read me? Come in, Arrow. Anyone in the recon group, please respond.” With a sigh, he smacked the side of the table in frustration uncharacteristic to him.

“Is something wrong, Cody?” Obi-Wan said.

“Yes, sir. None of the men we sent out on the recon have reported in, and no one is answering their comm either.”

“That is troubling.” Obi-Wan put his hand to his beard in contemplation. He had felt a disturbance not long ago from an unknown source; perhaps this was the answer he had not yet been able to find.

“I don’t like it, sir,” Cody said, taking his helmet off. “None of the men in that group would have forgotten to check in, and they wouldn’t have turned off their comms either. Something must have happened to them.”

“But the question is what?” Obi-Wan pondered. The craggy area the clones had been sent to survey was far, at least eighty klicks away. The group was intentionally small to avoid catching the eye of the possible enemy presence they had been sent to look for.

“Separatists, sir?”

Obi-Wan stared in the direction of the cliffs for a long time. “It’s probable.” He came to a decision. “I’m going to go check it out.”

Cody looked hesitant. “Perhaps we should send another group of clones, General –”

“I can handle a few droids, Cody,” Obi-Wan said, smirking at him dryly. “I’ll check in once I get there.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Cody muttered to himself, and Obi-Wan grinned as he moved off to the shuttle nearby.

It didn’t take long to approach the cliffside by shuttle, though Obi-Wan touched the ship down out of sight and ran the rest of the way through the sparse forest. The Force was tense around here, as though dozens of creatures waited to pounce on him at any minute. He kept his senses open as he moved in between the rocks, pausing behind boulders to listen for the sound of metal. He didn’t hear any animals – in fact, he didn’t hear the sound of anything at all.

The binary suns of Ord Trasi lit his way among the rock formations as he moved silently. Suddenly, he saw them – three clone troopers lying dead on the ground, each with what was unmistakably a lightsaber cut embedded deep into his chest. They were scattered feet apart from each other. They clearly hadn’t gone down without a fight. Exhaling softly, Obi-Wan commed Cody.

_“Yes, General?”_

“I’ve found them, Cody,” Obi-Wan said, touching one of the corpses lightly on the shoulder. “All dead.”

_“What was it, sir?”_ Ever the professional soldier, Cody’s voice betrayed nothing of what the man may have been feeling.

“Someone with a lightsaber.”

Cody was silent for a moment. _“Vader?”_

“I would guess so.”

He stood and looked around him, cautious. _“Should I send backup, sir?”_

“No, I think I can handle them, whoever they are. Continue monitoring for Separatist activity. I’ll check back as soon as I can.”

_“And what if it’s a trap, General?”_

Obi-Wan smiled wryly to himself. “I’m counting on it.”

Regretfully, he left the clones’ bodies where they were and walked carefully through the crag, eyes and ears and Force senses alert and waiting. The Force was thick with tension, but he could feel nothing of the assassin. The dark side lingered still from the clones’ deaths, no different from any other war zone. Still, something felt... _wrong_. As if he were being watched. Cody, this was most _certainly_ a trap.

Forced to abandon his fate to the assassin’s whim, he scanned the surrounding cliff walls with his eyes: first the one basking in sunlight, then the one in shadows. Sensing nothing, he walked, watching and listening, until he pointedly realized he had hit a dead end. Tense, he took a deep breath and turned around – just in time to see a dark figure leap from a concealed spot on the shadowy cliffside and rise to face him.

They were just as Obi-Wan had seen in the grainy holorecording a month ago: tall, humanoid, muscular, covered head to food in a form-fitting black clothes, apparently male. He had black plates of armor covering his shoulders with enough maneuverability that his arms would have full movement, not unlike what Obi-Wan had worn during the early years of the war. His slightly curly hair fell about the skeletal-looking mask that covered his face. He already had the hilt of his lightsaber clutched in his hand. He approached in a purposeful strut, stopping several feet away.

“So, you must be Dooku’s new pet,” Obi-Wan said mock-conversationally, taking his own lightsaber in his hand, vaguely wondering why he could feel nothing from his new enemy in the Force. “I don’t suppose you’ve been told what happened to his last one?”

Silent, Vader ignited his blade, bathing him in red light.

“I suppose you must have figured it out, considering she’s no longer around,” Obi-Wan continued casually. He was testing, now, to see what kind of reaction he could get. Grievous and Ventress, Dooku’s other pawns, would have responded to the threat with an angry battle cry, or a dry comment about how he was surely about to pay dearly for being Jedi scum. Not Vader, though. Sensing he would not get a response, Obi-Wan ignited his own lightsaber.

Without a word, Vader came at him, and his initial blow had such crashing power behind it that Obi-Wan had to grab his hilt with both hands to stop his blade being pushed back toward him. He remembered without much concern that no Jedi had yet survived an encounter with this Sith killer. He wondered briefly if he would join the list of dead.

Vader pushed the assault with powerful strikes and Obi-Wan allowed himself to be pushed back, circling around so that he was not pushed against the dead end of the cliff wall. Vader’s technique was aggressive, powerful, energetic, and Obi-Wan found this particularly interesting: Vader clearly did not acquire his lightsaber techniques from Dooku, who favored a classic fencer’s approach to dueling.

Vader attacked and Obi-Wan blocked, then Obi-Wan countered and Vader dodged. Vader swung his sword in a low sweep and Obi-Wan jumped over it and met his blade right in between them. Vader pushed him back; his strength was impressive.

When he had a window, Obi-Wan took it, and he threw a push of the Force out with his hand. Vader met it easily and they pushed the Force at each other, lightsabers locked between them. Obi-Wan glanced at Vader’s face, hidden behind the mask, trying to decipher why he felt such a familiar connection before the pushes got to be too much and they were both thrust back and fell backwards onto the ground, a short distance away from each other. They jumped up at the same time.

Obi-Wan took a few deep breaths while he had a chance, sabre held out warily. “Your fighting technique reminds me of someone that I used to know,” he commented, as if this were just a simple sparring session with an old friend. “Someone your master Dooku killed, actually.”

“Dooku is not my master,” Vader hissed, and his voice had a sort of mechanical tinge to it, like it was being filtered or generated for him by a vocabulator. Obi-Wan frowned; was Vader a cyborg, like Grievous had been, or did he simply wear the mask for protection, or to conceal his identity? Obi-Wan decided he would very much like to know.

He made a feint, not sure it would work but confident that it might. He took a quick step forward and thrust his sabre out, making it look like he was about to press the offensive. Vader fell for it and jumped on him at the same time, but Obi-Wan took a quick sidestep so that Vader stumbled through midair. When Vader turned around to come back at him, Obi-Wan reached his left hand out and pulled on the mask around Vader’s face with the Force.

Vader’s hand rose to grab the mask but it slid from his grip and flew to Obi-Wan. For a moment, Vader stood with his hand concealing his face as if unsure what to do. Eventually he looked up, and his stolen mask slipped from Obi-Wan’s suddenly numb fingers.

But –

_No –_

A hundred thousand thoughts raced through Obi-Wan’s mind at once, tripping over each other and never making their way to completion. In a heartbeat, an icy chill washed over him and his chest tightened like he was underwater, suffocating, drowning. In a few more heartbeats, Anakin started to attack him again.

It was the best Obi-Wan could do to block the blows, backing up, staring at Anakin’s sickly yellow eyes and the long sabre scar down his face. He managed to block Anakin’s red lightsaber – the _same_ lightsaber, Obi-Wan suddenly realized like a kick in his gut, but with a different crystal – and held it at bay long enough to say, _“Anakin?”_

His friend pushed his blade away with all the strength of his mechanical hand and said, “Who the hell is Anakin?”

“What?” Obi-Wan managed to exclaim before Anakin pushed his offensive with full strength. “Anakin, it’s _me!_ It’s _Obi-Wan!”_

There was no comprehension in his face when Anakin sliced at him. Thrown completely off-guard, it was all Obi-Wan could do to dodge the attacks. With a block, he thought about Anakin consciously betraying him and the Jedi and everything he’d ever thought for. With a duck, he berated himself, because there was no chance Anakin would _ever_ turn on him and how could he even consider it? When he threw himself to the ground and rolled away from a thrust of the red saber, he realized the only possibility:

_He really doesn’t know who I am._

Obi-Wan didn’t have time to dwell on this, for Anakin seemed to get angrier and more persistent the more Obi-Wan backed away. Obi-Wan himself certainly couldn’t see a way out of this while Anakin still had his sabre clenched in his mechno grip, so he concentrated on manipulating his attacks that he might twist the sabre out of Anakin’s hand. It worked, and Anakin’s lightsaber, the one Obi-Wan had seen him build after Geonosis, flipped out of his hand and fell behind a nearby rock.

Something feral seemed to take over Anakin, as if the fury that had been latent earlier now seemed to consume him. He let out an angry growl before he went into a low lunge at Obi-Wan and used his metal arm to chop at Obi-Wan’s own forearm. Obi-Wan couldn’t help his own lightsaber springing from his hand and flying a few feet away.

Anakin jumped on him automatically, pinning him to the ground and trapping Obi-Wan’s right wrist with his left hand. His mechno closed around Obi-Wan’s throat and Obi-Wan instinctively clawed at it with his free hand. Anakin’s yellow eyes bore into his with impartial cruelty, pushing all his weight down on his right arm before Obi-Wan found an opening to knee him in the gut and push him off, coughing. Before he could pull his lightsaber toward him – he had shamefully lost track of it at this point – he felt Anakin spring on him from behind and he turned around, catching Anakin’s arms and pushing, holding him at arm’s length with all of his strength.

“Anakin, please, _listen_ to me –”

His neck ached and his voice was raw from the choking. His old friend kicked at him and Obi-Wan was forced to let go and jump out of the way.

“You know who I am,” he said, holding his arms out as if trying to show a wild animal he wasn’t a threat. He risked putting a suggestion of the Force behind his words. “Look at me, you _know_ me –”

“No, I don’t,” Anakin muttered, launching his whole body at Obi-Wan but Obi-Wan caught him around the waist and pushed him to the ground. Anakin rolled them both over and forced himself on top of Obi-Wan, throwing a punch that landed squarely on Obi-Wan’s jaw. The hardness of the metal fist knocked his head back to the ground and Anakin continued to punch him, using all of his energy and grunting with each thrust of his fist. Coming out of his daze, Obi-Wan managed to catch Anakin’s forearm and then his other one, gripping them as hard as he could.

“Yes, you _do_!” Obi-Wan cried, ignoring the pain in his head.

“No!” Anakin shouted and wrenched his right arm away. Obi-Wan stared up at him from behind swollen eyes, all too aware of the blood in his mouth and all over his face. Anakin raised his fist for another punch, but he held it in the air a little too long and Obi-Wan pushed Anakin off of him, rolled over and sprang to his feet. His head was ringing, he was dizzy, but he was not going to let his formerly-dead best friend kill him today.

He turned around and Anakin came at him but he blocked the blows and slid around to come behind Anakin and sprang on him, wrapping his elbow around Anakin’s neck and his other arm around his chest, locking Anakin’s left arm to his side. Anakin tried to shake him off, elbowing him from behind and using his legs to try to shake Obi-Wan’s weight off, but Obi-Wan resisted, pulling on Anakin’s neck and listening to him struggle for breath.

“I don’t want to fight you!” Obi-Wan managed as Anakin’s movements became more sluggish. They both fell to their knees. “I just – want to _talk_ to you – please –”

Anakin let out a strangled breath and collapsed against him, unconscious. Gently, his heart beating so hard he thought it might give out, Obi-Wan laid him on the ground as if he were made of glass.

He only had a few seconds before Anakin got back up, Obi-Wan knew, but – well what was he supposed to do? What could he _possibly_ be supposed to do? Take Anakin home? That would never work, Anakin wanted to _kill him_ – try talking to him? His old friend didn’t appear very willing to have a conversation. Biting his lip, Obi-Wan pressed a trembling hand to the crown of Anakin’s head, trying to sense anything at all because how – _how?_ – could this have possibly happened? But before he could get anything meaningful from the Force Anakin shifted, blinking back into consciousness, and Obi-Wan pulled his hand away.

Anakin’s metal hand rose to press against his eyes. Beside him, Obi-Wan froze, not even breathing. Five seconds later, Anakin glanced at him, gasped, and threw himself back, crawling a few feet away and staring, wide-eyed.

Obi-Wan put out his hands like he had before. “Wait!” he begged. “Please, just wait a moment – let me talk to you, please –”

Anakin looked around frantically, trying to find his lightsaber. He spotted it, and made to grab for it, but in his dizzy post-unconscious state he was too slow, and Obi-Wan thrust out his hand to grab both Anakin’s sabre and his own with the Force. Anakin gaped at him, pushing himself to his feet, and wavered where he stood as if about to approach.

“Wait, Anakin, _please_ ,” Obi-Wan said, backing away. It went unacknowledged, and he looked around, trying to get his bearings. Anakin had his back to the rock wall off the cliff, only a few meters away now, and just a push of the Force would – _no_ , Obi-Wan couldn’t do that, it could just make everything worse – but – if he didn’t –

Swallowing thickly, he murmured, “Forgive me for this,” and a second later he thrust out both his hands and Anakin was knocked back those few meters so that he collided with the rock wall and collapsed on the ground. Staying for just a moment to make sure his friend would be all right, Obi-Wan dropped Anakin’s lightsaber hilt on the ground, turned around, and ran, and he didn’t stop running until he reached the cockpit of his ship, where he flipped switches and pushed off the surface and only once he had jumped into hyperspace did he finally collapse back into the pilot’s seat and allow himself to _think._

And his immediate thought was: oh, Anakin. Oh, no, no, no no _no_....

Obi-Wan felt his throat swell, his eyes water. He let his face fall into his hands.

Alive. Anakin was alive. Living, breathing, functioning, feeling. His friend, his _best_ friend, his Padawan, his child, his _brother_ – was – was a –

A _–_

A Sith. He was a Sith. A brainwashed, amnesiac, unrecognizable, serial Jedi-killer with sickly yellow eyes.

Oh, _Anakin...._

What did Dooku do to him? Or perhaps not Dooku – Sidious? Both, probably. But how, how could they possibly have done this to Anakin, whose will was stronger than anyone Obi-Wan knew? Who wore his sense of self and his freedom on his sleeve? How – how many months of _torture –_

He was going to be sick. He was almost certainly going to be sick. Actually, no, he was _definitely_ about to be sick, right now –

_He should have known Anakin was alive._

Obi-Wan shook off the thought. There was no use for _should haves_ , no matter how much truth there was to it.

He sighed, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the chair. The right thing to do, now, would be to inform Cody that he had fought Vader, and inform the Council who Vader was. Instead – and this was a mostly involuntary decision on Obi-Wan’s part, given the nature of his body being _entirely paralyzed_ from a multitude of emotions that would send each Council member into a series of disapproving stares – he sat slumped in his chair, watched the swirl of hyperspace, and thought about Anakin’s yellow Sith eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for sticking around! Merry Christmas and happy awakening of the Force!


	11. Speechless

Late in the Coruscant evening, Obi-Wan touched the shuttle down in the empty temple hangar. He flipped off the engine, lowered the exit ramp, collapsed back in the pilot’s chair and closed his eyes. A wave of fatigue hit him, and for a reasonable amount of time he considered falling asleep right here because getting up meant confronting the Council and confronting the Council meant telling them the truth....

And then his eyes were startled open by the sound of footsteps coming up the ramp and with a glance at the chrono he realized with some embarrassment that he actually _had_ dozed off, though only for a few minutes.

A voice called, “Master?”

“I’m here, Ahsoka.”

She came into the cockpit and sat in the chair next to his. She let out an exhale at the look of his injuries. “So it’s true? You fought Vader?”

Briefly pressing his eyes shut at the sound of that infernal name, he tried to center himself in the Force. “Yes. Vader.”

She swiveled the copilot’s chair awkwardly. “Well, there’s four Jedi Masters waiting out there for you to report to them,” she said. “I only came in because you weren’t coming out.”

Finally, he turned to look at her. He reached up with one hand to poke at the swollen side of his face. “Ahsoka,” he said, trying to push a tired determination behind his words. “Before I tell them, I need you to know first.”

The markings on her brow bone knitted together. “What is it?”

Suddenly, Obi-Wan felt extremely tired. He just needed to say the words. Just a few words. Right now. Just a few...ah....

“Ahsoka,” he said again. “Vader is Anakin.”

She blinked, a few times. She looked unbearably hesitant. “Master,” she said slowly. “Um...I, um....”

“He’s been brainwashed,” Obi-Wan said, turning to her more fully, gripping the back of his chair for support. “He didn’t remember who I was. He didn’t respond to his own name. I don’t know what the Sith did to him, but he’s – he’s alive, it’s really him.”

“Master, I – um – okay – do you want to go tell the Council?”

Of course she didn’t believe him. He shouldn’t be surprised. All of a sudden, Obi-Wan found that his patience was gone. “Ahsoka, please don’t look at me like that. This isn’t something that I could have made up if I wanted to.”

Ahsoka was at a loss for words, he could see that. He said, “I’m not lying!”

She hesitated. “I don’t think you are either, Master, I just...don’t really think you know what you’re saying.”

“I do know what I’m saying,” he snapped. “I’m saying that Anakin is alive. I’m saying I fought with him, and that he doesn’t remember who I am.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to doubt you, I’m just a little shocked, is all. We should go tell the Council.”

Obi-Wan threw up his hands. There was no _time_ for this. “Fine.”

They left the shuttle, and the first thing Mace Windu said to him was, “Obi-Wan, I’m glad you made it back alive. Do you need medical attention?”

Obi-Wan waved him off. “No, thank you. Just a few nights of sleep will do.”

“Actually,” Ahsoka said, glancing up at him, “I don’t think that would be a bad idea.” She looked apologetic. He was sure she _was_ apologetic, but there were a few more important things that he had to do right now like _finding Anakin and saving him and bringing him home._

He took a deep breath and decided to be frank. “All right. The truth.” Another breath. “I fought with Vader. We were very evenly matched, and I was interested in seeing who he was under the mask that he was wearing so when I had the opportunity, I pulled it off with the Force. To my _extreme_ surprise, I discovered that Vader was actually Anakin, who is apparently alive and has been brainwashed by someone, probably Dooku, into being a Sith. He did not know who I was beyond the target that the Sith had sent him to kill.”

Windu looked down at Yoda, and his expression was as clear as Naboo was green. Obi-Wan cut them off before they even thought of a reaction. “If I was going to make this up to fulfill some wild fantasy of mine, I would have done it months ago. This was real.”

They didn’t believe him. Windu said, “No one said you made it up.” Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest and glared at him. “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, but I have to agree with Padawan Tano. I’d like you to report to the Halls of Healing. Then we can talk about this further.”

He considered resisting. He didn’t have _time_ for this, there was a mystery that he needed to solve and a Padawan that he needed to find. But he knew, very well, that resisting would only exacerbate the problem.

He took yet another deep breath. “Very well.”

* * *

Ahsoka stayed outside the room while the healer gave him an examination, cognitive and physical. When she was done, she said, “You’re slightly dehydrated and under significant stress, which is understandable enough, but your physical wounds mostly just need bed rest. I am not doubting your account of these events, but I would like for you to stay here at least overnight and see how you’re feeling in the morning before you speak with the Council again.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. She led him and Ahsoka to a room with a bed. He fought a sigh. They were only wasting time.

“I’ll come see you tomorrow, okay, Master?” Ahsoka said. “Please try to get some sleep.” He nodded curtly, and she lingered in the doorway for a moment before leaving him alone.

It wasn’t until he had settled in the bed that he realized how exhausted he was. A part of him wanted to stay awake, to dissect the fight in his mind second by second, to figure out how...how? But, he found, the second his head had settled in the pillow, his eyes closed and his muscles relaxed and the world turned hazy around him...

_I’ll find you, Anakin,_ he managed to think before he drifted off. _I won’t let them hurt you ever again. I promise...._

* * *

He woke up the next morning to a blurry orange figure sitting beside his bed. Before Ahsoka noticed he was awake, he said blearily, “On your left.”

Ahsoka jumped and dropped her datapad in her lap. Looking embarrassed, she cleared her throat and resettled herself in her chair. “So...how are you feeling, Master?”

“Isn’t there another question you would rather ask me?”

She fiddled with the hem of her sleeve and frowned, silent.

Obi-Wan sighed. “Listen, Ahsoka. I know it’s easy to assume that I’ve...lost my mind, or something like that. But I haven’t. I know what I saw.”

Ahsoka reached up to scratch one of her headtails absentmindedly. “But – but, I mean...,” she stammered. She kicked at the floor with her legs. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about it all night. I just – I mean, if he somehow did survive that, wouldn’t we have known? How – I just don’t see how.”

“Believe me,” Obi-Wan said tiredly. “I don’t either.”

She fell silent again, and he looked past her out the window. “Ahsoka,” he said in a very low, quiet voice, “When he ambushed me, I didn’t know who he was. I thought he was another Ventress, some assassin that Dooku would use up and replace just like he had with her. Then I pulled off his mask using the Force to find out who he really was and do you know what the first thing I saw was?” In his peripheral vision, he saw her shake her head. “His eyes. They’ve turned yellow, just like the Zabrak Sith that I fought so many times. Then I saw the scar that Ventress gave him, the one on his face, and his lightsaber, and his hair, and I felt the metal of his arm. Several times, at that.” He touched his face again, feeling the swollen skin ache.

He turned to look at Ahsoka. She was staring at him with wide eyes. “You really, really mean it,” she almost whispered.

“Would I lie about this?”

“I never thought you were lying,” she said. “I thought you were....”

“Trying to convince myself of what I wanted to believe, I know.”

Her gaze drifted off to a spot on his blanket and remained there, probably as she tried to reach out in the Force and find her first, long-lost master. A foolhardy effort. Obi-Wan should know – he couldn’t seem to stop trying it himself.

* * *

A day later, and he was out. Unusual, that the testimony of a teenaged Padawan would be enough to convince the Jedi Council of his sanity, but he was grateful for it. Next, he just had to find Anakin again. He never should have ran away in the first place, he was such a fool....

* * *

In the dead of night, Obi-Wan shifted in his bed. Something had woken him, but he didn’t know what it was until he felt a metal hand close around his throat. His eyes startled open and his hands automatically rose to claw at his neck. Anakin was hovering over him, his yellow eyes boring into Obi-Wan’s with impartial cruelty.

“Anakin –” Obi-Wan tried to choke out but no sound escaped from his lips. He tried to push Anakin off him but his arms felt like water hitting stone.

“I don’t know you,” Anakin hissed, but his voice didn’t sound like Anakin’s, it was dark and _evil_ and it filled Obi-Wan with unbridled fear. “You mean nothing to me.”

Obi-Wan tried to struggle, but he could hardly move. The life was leaving him, his vision grew blurry and everything seemed to fade out except for Anakin’s Sith eyes.

Before Obi-Wan blacked out, he could have sworn he heard a croaking, despicable sounding voice say, “He’s _mine_ , Kenobi….”

Obi-Wan sat up in bed, gasping for air and feeling his neck, freed from the false reality of the dream. It hadn’t felt like a dream, though…he suddenly recalled what Anakin always used to say of his visions, how he always seemed to _know_ when his dreams and nightmares were something more. The voice that he had heard had channeled directly into his brain as if it was a message meant only for him to hear.

He pushed the covers off him, suddenly hot and decidedly unsettled by the all-to-real feeling of his best friend trying to squeeze the life out of him. The memory of his fight with Anakin was fresh in his mind. The lack of recognition in Anakin’s eyes hurt like a bleeding wound.

He left his room and, as if in a trance, entered the one across from his for the first time in months. Inside, he collapsed against the wall and slid to the floor. Anakin’s bedroom was practically untouched: tools littered the work bench and the crates by the wall were full of spare droid parts. The yellow starfighter model Anakin had designed and built (Obi-Wan pointedly realized the cruel irony that the eyes that now haunted him were Anakin’s favorite color) sat in front of the poster he had brought with him from Tatooine. The residual feeling of Anakin’s presence in the Force had faded from the room with time, but simply sitting in here reminded Obi-Wan so much of the nights he had sat by the bedside, stroking his Padawan’s hair as Anakin tried to cope with all the tremendous burdens that the universe had seen fit to place upon him.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and gathered his resolve. He would bring Anakin home. He would, and he didn’t care if it was the last thing he ever did.

* * *

Obi-Wan was let into Padmé’s regal apartment by Anakin’s old droid, C-3PO. He had gotten to know the thing quite well; Anakin had had the droid with him at the temple for a few weeks after Geonosis. It was fussy, worrisome, and somewhat irritating, but Obi-Wan had never complained. He knew how much Anakin had cared about the thing and upsetting his fragile, orphaned Padawan had not been something he had wanted to do. However, Obi-Wan had been extremely glad when Anakin and Padmé had done their droid exchange – at least R2-D2 had never tried to wait on him every minute of the day and was, ahem,  _useful_ .

“Good evening, Master Kenobi, it is such a pleasure to see you again,” the droid said to him now, ushering him in. “Mistress Padmé is in the other room, and I’m sure she will be most grateful to see you. Can I get you anything? Some tea or a drink, perhaps?”

“No thank you, Threepio,” Obi-Wan said, patting it on the shoulder and moving into the other room. When she saw him, Padmé jumped up and hugged him close.

Then she held him at arm’s length, looking him over. When she caught sight of the bruises on his neck and the swelling in his face, she pressed her lips together in a fine line. After a long moment, she said, “I’m sure you’ve been informed of this, but you look awful. What happened to you?”

He didn’t really know how to answer, and he didn’t really want to at all, so he said, “I have something to tell you.” He hoped this went better than the last two times he’d given this news.

She crossed her arms. “Good news or bad?”

He hesitated. “Both.”

There was a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow. He should be more in charge of his own emotions, but here he was standing before her, putting off revealing to her that her secret murdered husband had not, in fact, been murdered.

“Padmé...,” Obi-Wan trailed off. His voice was little more than a whisper. He put his hand on her arm. “Anakin is alive.”

He watched her face carefully, giving her time to digest his words. It was clear no digestion was happening. “What?”

“Anakin is still alive, Padmé.”

After a long moment of blankness, Obi-Wan watched as her expression turned hard. Ruthless, even. She backed away from him,  She stared at him like a vile sewer creature from below the planet’s surface.

“Why would you – what –” Padmé stammered, a pink flush rising in her face. He could feel her anger flare up and bite at him in the Force. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

Obi-Wan tried to take a measured breath. “Padmé –”

She held up her hand to stop him. Her voice was cold when she said, “I have spent months, _months_ , trying to reconcile with what I did, and now you think it’s all right to – force me into some sick fantasy of yours –” she heaved a heavy breath and let out a bitter laugh. “I really didn’t think you had it in you, Obi-Wan, but I guess I should have expected it. I mean, I got this treatment from Ahsoka and I guess you’ve finally snapped too. What are you trying to do, test me?”

A realization hit him that these emotions were not new to her – she had been burying them, suppressing them, and now Obi-Wan’s poor execution of this revelation had apparently lit the fuse.

“Am I not good enough for you, is that it? Am I not good enough to be married to your best friend? Is that it? Are you mad at me for taking your Padawan away from you?”

It was true, a little, or at least it had been in the past, but that didn’t matter right now. “Padmé, please –”

“Because you should be!” she yelled, and suddenly her face was twisted as if in pain and there were tears in her eyes. “You’re right! It’s my fault! Thanks for reminding me, Obi-Wan!”

“I’m not trying to trick you!” he said, perhaps a bit too forcefully, but her silence told him it must have had some effect. He took a few slow steps toward her and said, much more softly, “I’m not lying to you.”

She stared at him for a long time, trying to decipher something. Finally, Padmé said, “I saw him die.”

He took a steady breath. “And I just saw him alive.”

“Where?” she said. Humoring him.

If there was a way to say it that made her both believe him and reconcile with the truth, Obi-Wan would have liked for it to come to him now. Because no such inspiration came to him, there was no way to put it other than saying the simple truth. “He’s Vader.”

For a long time, Padmé stared at him, and then she crossed her arms over her chest and looked away, shaking her head continuously. “You want so hard to believe that he’s alive that you’ll believe anything. You’ve repressed your feelings so hard over this last year that now you’re making up stories about Anakin being a Sith assassin. Anything so that he’s alive, right? Am I right?”

Obi-Wan tried, and failed, to wrestle with the beast of impatience inside him. “Do I look like I fought with my own denial?” he snapped. He pointed to his neck. “These bruises are real, Padmé. They came from the mechanical hand that I watched him build. I touched him, I saw his lightsaber, it’s the same one. And his eyes –” He swallowed thickly. “His eyes are yellow now.”

He would never know which were the words that convinced her, but she did believe him now. He could see it shining in her own brown eyes. Still, she said, as if it were so simple, “He would never work for Dooku.”

“I don’t think he had any choice.” Obi-Wan looked at the floor. Anakin’s look of unrecognition flashed in is mind like a bolt of lightning. “He doesn’t remember anything. He’s been – brainwashed, or I don’t know what.”

There was a very long pause between them while they stared at each other, and when Padmé spoke again her voice was weak. “Anakin is alive.” He nodded.

Then, she grabbed his arms and her face broke into a disturbing and maniacal grin. “Anakin is _alive!”_ She threw her arms around him and rocked him back and forth. “He’s _not dead!”_

He hesitantly maneuvered out of her embrace. “Padmé –”

“No!” she said, pressing her finger to his lips. “Shh, I know, I _know_ , he’s been brainwashed, he’s a Sith, he’s a murderer, but Obi-Wan – he’s _alive!”_ She threw her arms out like a playful child. Her shoulders shook with mirth and her breathless giggle was decidedly unsettling. “Just let me – just give me a moment, all right, because I – I can’t believe it! I can’t –”

She laughed and laughed and laughed and Obi-Wan wasn’t sure when the transition happened but then suddenly she was crying into her hand. “I can’t – I can’t –”

“Padmé...”

She was whimpering, “He doesn’t remember? What doesn’t he remember?”

“I’m not sure. Me, probably you, possibly everything. His own name.”

“He doesn’t remember his own name,” Padmé whispered back at him in disbelief. “Oh, sweetheart. Oh, no, Ani....” She reached behind her and collapsed backwards on her couch, sobbing. “The things they must have done to him. Oh, Anakin....” Obi-Wan just sat next to her and rubbed her back. He’d never seen her like this before – red-faced, smudged makeup, not in control at all – and he hoped he never would again.

Eventually, she said, “How did he look?”

It bothered him that he could hardly think of anything other than the color of Anakin’s eyes. “I didn’t have a lot of time to look. He was quite occupied with trying to kill me.”

“But how – how could you not know –”

“He can use the Force, but he’s absent from my sense of it. I wish I knew how.”

“What are we going to do?” Padmé whispered.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan said. “I’m going to bring him home. I don’t know what I have to do. I don’t even care if I die trying. I am going to bring Anakin home.”

She sniffled, and said, “I’m coming with you.” Then she snapped, “And don’t try to stop me, because I’m the one who made this happen to him and nothing you say can change that.”

Eventually, Obi-Wan nodded. “Ahsoka and I are going to try to track him down. When we do, I’ll contact you.”

Padmé gave him a very small, hopeful smile and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

* * *

The late afternoon’s sunlight cast narrow beams through the blinds in Yoda’s private meditation chamber. Obi-Wan sat across from him, waiting patiently as Yoda communed with the Force, immersed deep within it in a way that Obi-Wan was sure he would never be able to emulate. Hundreds of years of practice and a high number of midi-chlorians gave Yoda an added advantage. Privately, Obi-Wan had always hoped that with practice Anakin, who’s Force potential dramatically exceeded even Yoda’s, would be able to find this level of connection. That dream had, with many others, died out months ago, but now there was a renewed chance that it could come true if the Jedi played their cards right.

Yoda opened his eyes slowly, his ears rising and falling with his breathing. “Looked much, I have, and found no trace of Skywalker. Gone he is from the Force.”

As Obi-Wan had expected. Well, at least they believed him now. “How is that possible? He still has access to it, I saw him use it.”

The Grand Master looked pensive. “Concealed himself he could have, in the dark side.”

“Can that be done?”

“An ancient technique of the dark side, it is. Learned it only from a Sith Lord, he could have.”

Obi-Wan leaned in. “The one thing he told me was that Dooku wasn’t his master. Do you think... Darth Sidious?”

“Likely it is.”

A determined frown etched itself on Obi-Wan’s face. “I must find him, Master.”

Yoda looked at him, his wizened face looking tired. It was a weakness he revealed only to other Council members, and barely even then. “And when you find him, what will you do? A servant of evil he has become.”

“We don’t know that he made that choice,” Obi-Wan assured him. “He doesn’t appear to remember a thing. Sidious could have given him no alternative.”

“Still, rejected the dark side, Skywalker could have. Gone down a dark path he has, and forever will it dominate his destiny.”

“I have to try to help him,” Obi-Wan said. Then he grimaced, and remembered the words every Padawan learned from Yoda at a young age. “No, not try. I _will_ help him.”

“And if lost, Anakin is? Accept this possibility, you must, before you confront him again,” Yoda said, and remarkably there was a cadence of sympathy in his words. Yoda, Obi-Wan recalled, had always had a complicated relationship with Anakin. He had opposed Anakin’s introduction into the Order from the start, yet he had admired Anakin’s connection with the Force. He had never excused Anakin’s faults, but he had, Obi-Wan believed, had faith that one day Anakin might change the galaxy for the better.

Obi-Wan sighed and said, “The Force has always been with him. I do not believe he will be lost so easily.”

Yoda took a deep breath as he sunk back into meditation. “I hope right you are, Obi-Wan.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year and thank you very very much to everyone who commented on last chapter! If you liked that one, then I really think you'll like what's to come! May the Force be with you all ;)


	12. Freeze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for more abuse and trauma and PTSD

The uncomfortable feeling of lying on rocks...an ache in the back of his head...Vader groaned, and rolled onto his back. The Jedi was gone, he didn’t need to open his eyes to see that. Gingerly, he touched the scrape where his head had hit the rock wall – blood. Not much, but enough to sting. Great. _Another_ head injury. That was sure to help.

He remembered. _Anakin._ That was what Kenobi had called him. When he recognized him. Oh no. When he _recognized_ him.

Sidious was going to kill him.

How many times had Sidious said it? Vader was _not_ to be recognized. A part of him sort of just wanted to lay here, maybe until some hungry predator came and devoured him. It would probably be less painful than whatever Sidious was going to do to him. Once he found out.

Vader shuddered, and sat up. He looked around. He called his mask and his lightsaber to him with the Force. The mask was dirty. He shook it off. Sat for a moment. Swallowed thickly.

_I don’t want to fight you!_

He didn’t understand. One moment, Kenobi _was_ trying to fight him, then the mask comes off and he wasn’t? Who was Anakin? Okay, him, fine, but...well, it did sound familiar...

And Kenobi – in the Force, he had felt –

Like an old dream Vader had never had. Like a distant memory.

Slowly, taking as long as he possibly could, Vader stood. Put his mask on. Brushed dirt off his clothes.

Kenobi was alive. Vader hadn’t killed him. Kenobi knew who Vader was. Kenobi would tell the Jedi. Vader would have to tell Sidious.

Oh, he was afraid.

* * *

 

In the cockpit of his ship, Vader waited. A few minutes passed. Then, a hologram of Darth Sidious appeared. Vader got onto the floor and knelt.

Without any other words, Sidious said, _“Kenobi is dead, then?”_

Vader’s heart pounded in his chest. He felt sick. He might be sick. “No, Master. I failed.”

Sidious’s face twisted in anger. _“And?”_

“He recognized me, Master.” Vader’s voice was a whisper. He couldn’t seem to make it louder. He bowed. “Forgive me.”

_“Sith do not forgive,”_ Sidious spat. _“This is a critical error, Vader. One that may cost me my entire plan for the galaxy. You have made a foolish mistake with the most critical of targets, though I do not expect you to be able to understand that with your limited intelligence.”_

Vader tried to keep his face even. That wasn’t fair – _he_ wasn’t stupid, it was that his damn brain didn’t work. “Yes, Master.”

Sidious made a derisive noise and said, _“You will return to Serenno. I will follow. Stay there until I have returned so that you avoid making any other stupid mistakes.”_

The hologram cut off. Vader stayed where he was, kneeling. His jaw tightened. He _wasn’t_ stupid. It wasn’t _his_ fault, Kenobi had grabbed the mask with the Force.

_Anakin, it’s me!_

He put his fist to his head, hitting it lightly a few times. As if he could knock the memory out. Kenobi was manipulating him, yeah, that was it, because he was a Jedi and Jedi were power-hungry – what was it – hypocritical...somethings, who were waging war across the galaxy and slowly taking over.

Vader frowned in confusion. Wasn’t that what the Sith were doing, too?

This was bigger than him. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about anything. He especially didn’t want to go back.

But he had to. There was no where else to go.

* * *

_Poke. Prod. Tap tap. Poke._

Every touch by the doctors on his bare skin felt more pronounced. The clinical smell of these rooms was too much. It felt like everything was closing in on him. He wished they would stop inspecting him like a science experiment.

Vader heard a doctor say, and it sounded like it was coming from a distance though really it was two meters away, “The subject is agitated. Breathing and heart rate too high, cognitive response limited. Should we proceed?”

He didn’t hear the answer. _The subject._ He wasn’t a subject. He was a person, with a name. Vader. Or Anakin, maybe.

“Affirmative, we will prepare him for Lord Sidious’s arrival. Standby.”

Vader kind of wanted to cry again. He didn’t do it, but he wanted to. He didn’t know why. Before all this, before Kenobi, he had been fine. Following orders, killing without a thought. Because that’s what he was. A killer. A subject. Nothing else.

They gave him back his clothes. His lightsaber was nowhere to be found. Taken, like they usually did. He wouldn’t have given it a thought, normally, but he did now. He dressed, ate the tasteless food they put before him, kept shaking. Why wouldn’t he stop shaking?

Then, someone pressed a hypospray to his neck and said, “Follow me.” He was going to do it anyway, probably, but a tall human male doctor grabbed his flesh arm firmly and led him. Vader stumbled a little, but they made it down a hall and then another and into a room. There was a small crowd of people in there, some checking monitors, some standing around a metal chair with straps and armrests and –

No – _no –_

_strapped down, sobbing, pulling as hard as he could but it was no use, he had no strength, no access to the Force, nothing, please don’t take them away, stop stop stop stop stop stop please don’t_ no _pain pain pain_

Then he was back. It was fake. It was a memory. Just a memory. But actually, he realized, it was _real_ , because they were about to do it again. He couldn’t move, instead they were moving him themselves, guiding him across the room and putting him into the seat, putting his arms in place. Vader was frozen, completely frozen, he was going to die wasn’t he, this machine had never killed him before but it was about to now, the terror in his body told him so, it was happening again no no no no no

“Please don’t,” he tried to whimper, but no sound came out. He remembered: _Sith do not beg._ But he wasn’t a Sith. He wasn’t. No no no no no

He pulled. He pulled and pulled. Or, at least, he tried – he couldn’t seem to move any of his muscles but it didn’t matter anyway, because he was strapped down, trapped. A doctor grabbed a fistful of Vader’s hair and forced his head back as another pulled the thing down over his head. Took hold of his jaw and forced the mouth guard between his teeth.

He struggled, to no avail because he still couldn’t move, he pulled and kicked and screamed and – wait.

_Wait._

No. This wasn’t going to happen.

Because he had something he didn’t have last time.

_The Force._

He could feel it. It was everywhere. It was _waiting_ for him.

The machine turned on. He screamed. Electricity surged into his brain. He curled his metal hand into a fist, and squeezed. Pushed out with the Force. Something shattered, he didn’t know exactly what, but he heard sparking and smelled burning metal and the feed of electricity stopped as abruptly as it had started. He was disoriented, drained, but he gathered the Force and pulled pulled pulled with his mechanical arm on the restraint binding it to the armrest. The restraint creaked, and broke open. Someone came at him, and he swung his freed fist into their stomach, knocking them to the ground.

Again, Vader squeezed his metal fingers around an invisible ball. Ten Confederate doctors rose into the air from their necks. He twisted his wrist, and the Force twisted their necks.

No survivors.

He used the Force and his metal hand to pull up the restraint on his other wrist and pushed the thing off his head, pulled the mouth guard out. He heard the familiar buzz of electrostaffs, and looked up to see two MagnaGuards approaching. Another flick of the wrist sent them flying against opposite walls.

Vader stood, and fell. His head – or maybe the world – was spinning. He clutched at his head with his left hand, and got back up. There was no time to think, no time to stay. He needed to _get out._

He walked, unsteady, through the door. Grabbed the opposite wall to keep from falling again. Wait, where was he? He couldn’t remember. That place – no, it didn’t look like that place. It _looked_ like Dooku’s palace. On Serenno. Not that other place, wherever that had been. But the electro chair – why would the chair be here –

He walked, and walked, down corridors that he didn’t know, no destination in mind. Air, he wanted air. He wanted to breathe. He wanted to get out. He needed a ship. He had to get away.

A sharp pain laced through his chest, and he grunted. _Ignore it, ignore it, keep walking. Get out._

He saw a door. It looked familiar, and Vader decided to hope that that familiarity was a gift from the Force, a message for where he needed to go next. He burst through it.

It wasn’t a gift. At least, not one from the Force itself, and definitely not for his benefit.

Sidious was here. Vader backed up against the wall and collapsed. Cowered. Shivered. Covered his face with his hands as if he could make Sidious go away by not seeing him, like a child with monsters under its bed. There was no point in pretending – he had never, it felt like, been this afraid in his entire life.

He couldn’t speak. He didn’t even try. He just sat there before Sidious, shaking and breathing in sharp gasps that offered no relief and waiting, waiting, waiting.

Finally, Sidious said, “I see you are trying to escape before you spoke to me.”

He didn’t know why he did it, but Vader was shaking his head. “No,” he stammered, but it was a lie and Sidious knew it.

“Kneel before me, Vader.”

Vader moved mechanically, crawling on his hands and knees to Sidious’s feet. He bowed his head, and his curly hair obscured the dusty hem of his master’s black robe. Nausea rose in his throat and he hoped he could keep it down. Sidious said, his voice low and dark and full of purpose, “You will learn what it means to fail a Sith.”

Nothing happened. Slowly, Vader looked up. He stared into Sidious’s yellow eyes for what felt like eternity.

Blue lightning burst from Sidious’s fingertips and hit Vader straight in the chest. The sound that ripped from his throat was rough and aching and long and loud, hurting just like the rest of him. It was fire, all over his body, there was smoke in his lungs, tears stinging in his eyes, he was on the ground, rolling or twitching back and forth as if he could put the fire out, can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe at all –

He didn’t know how long the pain lasted. Instead, he only knew when it was over. That pain – that was – unlike anything he’d ever felt. That pain...

“Get up.” It was Sidious’s voice, but it took Vader too long to register the meaning of the words, so Sidious barked an even harsher, “Get up, now.” Vader did, kneeling again, shaking, shaking, shaking. “Do you have something to say to me?”

Maybe. He didn’t remember. Did he? Yes. “Forgive me...” He said it slowly, stupidly, saying each syllable at a time. He couldn’t think, except about the pain. He was twitching. He still wanted to cry.

“You forgot something.”

Vader swallowed thickly. “Master.”

“Say it again.”

Vader bowed. “Master.”

Sidious’s voice was deathly cold. “What am I?”

“My master,” Vader said again. He hated it, hated Sidious, hated himself and life and everything, but his stupid feelings didn’t matter. Only the pain.

“That is correct. You are mine, and that you shall always be. Now stand up.”

He did. His knees wobbled, his head swam. It was a miracle his feet could support his weight.

Sidious said, “You will go and correct for your mistake. By now, Kenobi will have already informed the Jedi of your survival, which will hinder all the plans I have devised thus far. You will find Kenobi again, and this time you will kill him.”

“Yes, Master.”

The Sith gave handed him something. He took it without knowing immediately what it was – oh, his lightsaber. He’d forgotten he didn’t have it.

“I warn you, Vader,” Sidious said, “If you fail again, you will not escape my wrath. Now get out of my sight.”

He did. He still wobbled where he walked, he still didn’t know where he was going, and he was pretty sure he vomited somewhere along the way, but after what felt like forever he stumbled into the hangar bay and over to his ship.

Kenobi would die. Vader would make sure of it this time. Because if he didn’t....

* * *

Vader dragged the bodies of two dead Jedi toward the river by the collars of their tunics, his heart still racing from the rush of the kill. Their bodies smoldered where his blade had pierced them and they left trails of smoothed over grass in their wake. Good – that would lead the Jedi straight to him when they inevitably came to investigate these disappearances.

When he reached the river, he took a brief look at his victims. One, an Ithorian, looked shriveled and regretful in death. The other, a young human, had a thin plait of hair over one shoulder and his open eyes still held a firm determination. He heaved their bodies into the still river without a second thought and walked away as they were submerged in murky water.

He walked. He had nowhere to go, for now. It would be a while before the Jedi came looking for their own, but they would come. Somehow, he knew Kenobi would come.

_I just want to talk to you!_

After a while, he sat down on the grass. This planet – what was it called again? He had forgotten already – was cold, covered in windy grass plains and forests. He shivered, and considered going back to his ship for a while, but...well, where was his ship? He couldn’t really remember that, either.

That was probably going to be a problem.

He hit the ground with his fist. The electro chair. He had tried to fight it but it had still messed him up. The surprise Force lightning from his master hadn’t really helped, either.

It was so cold. Drawing his knees up to his chest, shaking his hair out of his eyes, he tried not to think about it. He wedged his freezing human fingers between his arm and his side, and looked up at the stars. The night was clear, and they twinkled for him. He wondered, for no discernable reason, how many of those stars had planets, and how many of those planets he had been to.

_Anakin?_

It was a name from a time long gone. He didn’t know how long. It was so familiar, somehow, but it still felt wrong. Part of him was certain that Kenobi had been mistaken. Even through months of torture and memory loss and humiliation, how could anyone forget their own name?

A tear slipped down his cheek, and then another and another. He pulled his mask off and the bitter wind stung his face. He lowered himself fully to the ground, and curled in on himself. He was crying, crying, like a frightened child, for what he was pretty sure was the first time since he’d lost all his memories to begin with. It wasn’t that he had anything against crying, at least not when he was alone. He didn’t. Instead, it was that he hadn’t felt the _need_ to cry for the last few months. He hadn’t, he realized, really felt much of anything until now. Just pain. Humiliation. Weakness. More pain. Now, he felt everything. Still pain, but with sadness that felt so heavy it was like he was falling down an endless, pitch-black hole and he would never see the light again.

This was all Kenobi’s fault. Vader didn’t know how, but he knew that it was. If his master was this adamant that Kenobi die, then everything had to be linked back to him. Killing him would make everything easier. If it didn’t, Vader wouldn’t know what to do next.

He didn’t know how long he laid there, crying until the crying stopped and then crying again. He couldn’t see the stars anymore, his vision was too blurry from the tears and something else, a blotchy, distorted spot that wouldn’t go away even if he rubbed at his eyes. He knew what that meant, because he had gotten them too many times before. A migraine was coming. Terrific – exactly what he needed.

His ship. He wanted to find his ship. He wanted to be warm. His clothes were warm, but not warm enough. He looked around. There was a forest nearby. Maybe his ship was there.

He got up, and went looking, coughing and wiping tears off his cheeks. He shivered again. He hoped Kenobi would come soon, and that the migraine would be short. He wanted to go back to not feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you to everyone who has read and especially commented! This is one of my favorite chapters ;) see you next time!


	13. The Confrontation

Twist this lever. Connect those two wires. Check the power couplings. Yup, everything was all good. Nothing wrong with the ship’s engines whatsoever.

Of course, that should be a good thing. Well, it _was_ a good thing. Except for a bored-slash-restless Togruta Padawan named Ahsoka Tano, who was trying very hard not to think about the fact that her formerly dead master might be somewhere on this planet and they were just sitting here _waiting._

_Of course_ , they were waiting for Padmé, which was a pretty good reason to wait (she still felt bad about how she had treated Padmé for those first few months – the senator _really_ deserved better) but the waiting itself was what was driving Ahsoka mad.

The call had come a day ago. Two Jedi missing on some nowhere planet called Sharlissia. A little negotiating with the Council on Obi-Wan’s part and a call to Padmé later and here they were. Waiting. There was only a chance, of course, because a million and one things could have happened to the two missing Jedi – broken communications function, forced to go undercover, who even knew – but considering that ten other Jedi had been killed in a month or two, Ahsoka had to admit it was a pretty _good_ chance that the perpetrator was Anakin.

She still couldn’t believe he was alive. Well, she _did_ believe, because she believed Obi-Wan, but it seemed to good to be true.

Oh, hey. The Force itself must have heard her thoughts, because not a minute later an alarm went off and Ahsoka jumped out of the engine alcove before Obi-Wan even had the chance to tell her Padmé was here. She glanced at the console at the scan of Padmé’s Nubian yacht before she grabbed her cloak and ran down the exit ramp.

Okay, wow. She probably should have checked the weather report because _wow_ it was cold on this planet. Not that there was a weather report for a planet that no one had ever heard of before. Point was, it was windy, bitterly cold, and really quiet.

Padmé appeared a moment later, pulling a warm-looking jacket over her bodysuit. “Is he here?”

“We’re not sure,” Obi-Wan said from behind Ahsoka, “But the Force is thick with the dark side, it would be easy for him to hide himself in it.”

“Well how are we going to find him if we have nothing to go on?”

“We will have to use our instincts.”

Padmé put her hands on her hips. “Listen, I trust you, but _I_ personally need something a little more reassuring than that.”

Ahsoka closed her eyes while they jabbered. Feel for him...feel for him....

She didn’t feel him, but she felt something else. “I think we should go that way,” she said. They looked in the direction that she was pointing.

After a minute, Obi-Wan said, “Agreed.” Padmé made a slightly impatient movement before gesturing for them to lead the way.

Their instincts led them to a ship, crashed. A Jedi ship, Ahsoka realized, just like the one they had flown here. Shot down, scorching on the hull, transparisteel viewport cracked, wing torn off on impact. Trees were bent and broken. No sense of life in the Force.

“Stay here,” she said to her elders, and she jumped inside the ship. Used her extra spatial awareness and the yellow-green hue of her shoto to avoid injury. Jedi shuttles were small, with two or three rooms, and it didn’t take long to inspect. No survivors.

She climbed out and shook her head. Obi-Wan crossed his arms and touched his beard. Padmé looked at him and said, “It could have been a droid. This _is_ a Separatist controlled world.”

“It’s possible,” Obi-Wan said, distant. He ignited his sabre and scanned the ground with his eyes. “There – footprints.”

Ahsoka saw them too. One humanoid, one web-shaped. She exhaled involuntarily – well, that matched the missing Jedi. Now where did they go?

They followed the tracks. Five minutes of walking. Ten. Twenty. They were on a flat, grassy plain now and the wind was even colder. She had a hard time imagining that someone like Anakin, who complained about the cold as much as he did, would hang around on a planet like this waiting for a Jedi to find him, but she couldn’t deny the Force felt a little more tense every fifty steps or so.

Abruptly, Obi-Wan stopped walking and looked at the ground. He heaved a deep sigh and said,  “They were killed here.” Ahsoka looked around, trying to figure out how he knew. Sure, the dark side was swelling in this spot in a maelstrom of energy, but she didn’t see any physical evidence of their deaths – or so she thought, before she looked at Master Kenobi’s hands and saw him holding two similar-looking lightsaber hilts. They shared a brief, solemn look of mourning for the dead Jedi before Ahsoka noticed something over his shoulder.

She pointed. “There.” There were two trails of smoothed-over grass, rustled by the wind but distinct still. They set off again, following the paths to a riverbank, and the trail ended.

“This is more like the work of an animal,” Padmé muttered.

Obi-Wan said, “Or a Sith.”

“So what now?” Padmé said, a hand on her hip. “I’ll grant you that this was probably him, but do we just wait here? What if he killed and ran?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “This is a trap. I’m certain of it.”

“Are you sure it’s –”

“It’s not wishful thinking,” he said quietly. “He’s here. He is going to come.”

Ahsoka frowned, and turned away from the river. Something was over there, she _felt_ it. It didn’t feel like Anakin, she would know if it was him. Something else. Something calling to her.

She said, “I’m going to go over there and check something out. You stay here.”

Obi-Wan looked around and said, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. We should stay together.”

“It’s not him, Master,” Ahsoka said. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Plus, if we split up he’s more likely to appear, right?”

He glanced at Padmé and then said, obviously protesting, “All right, but stay in my sight. This isn’t safe.” Ahsoka waved him off. Stay in his sight? Yeah, it was sort of impossible not to on an endless plain like this one.

She walked, and walked. It was dark – if this planet had any moons, they weren’t out tonight. She glanced behind her – she could sense Obi-Wan and Padmé, but couldn’t see them anymore – too far away, or too dark, she couldn’t tell which. Oops. Oh well. Might as well keep walking ‘til she could tell what the disturbance was.

Another step, then another, and her foot kicked something hard. She looked down, and picked up whatever it was. A mask? In the low level of light, it looked black, and skeletal, and _creepy_ and – oh no, Skyguy....

Ahsoka looked around, to no avail. Strange, the Force felt – _wrong_ , somehow....

Her comm beeped. She rolled her eyes, and pressed the button. “I’m fine, Master.”

_“I thought I asked you to stay in my sight.”_

“Look, I’m coming back now, okay? I’ll turn my lightsaber on so you can see me if it’ll make you feel better.”

_“But –”_ His sigh was audible over the comm. _“Fine, but keep your senses open. And be careful. This is too dangerous.”_

She smirked, and plucked her shoto off her belt with her dominant hand, igniting it. Briefly, she glanced down at the mask she was holding again. Even creepier in the suddenly eerie yellow-green light. She turned back to the riverbank. A second later, she heard a rustle of grass and felt the mask slip from her fingers as the Force pulled it away from her. Her chest constricted, and fear stabbed at her heart like a knife. Wide-eyed, she turned around.

The figure was distinct, but not their features. Their left arm was reaching out to grab the mask. Hesitantly, Ahsoka raised her shoto to bathe the figure in the blade’s light. Her jaw dropped open.

It was him. It was really, really him. In the flesh. _Alive._ His hair was a mess and his nose and cheeks looked pink like he’d been out in the cold too long and his irises really were yellow, just like on they had been on Mortis. His clothes were thick synth-leather and black and he stared at her with little interest in his eyes, silent and waiting and without even a tiny twinge of recognition. In the Force, it was like he wasn’t even there.

Through the comm, Obi-Wan’s voice said, _“Ahsoka? What is it?”_

Instead of responding, with her eyes never leaving Anakin’s shadowy face, she slowly lifted her left arm to her right hand and shut the commlink off.

“Please don’t make me fight you,” she said – pleaded – to Anakin. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached the mask up to his face and put it back on, then ignited his lightsaber, already in his hand. Red light illuminated the ground. A second later, Ahsoka’s sense of Obi-Wan was engulfed in a wild panic. One more second and Anakin moved at her, lightning fast.

She caught his lightsaber with hers, holding her shoto tight with both hands. He was strong as ever – insanely strong. The Force was pushing his blade down, even though she couldn’t feel his presence in it at all. Her eyes flicked momentarily up to his, hidden behind his mask. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t afraid – or, okay, _terrified_.

The Force pushing his blade down let up but his lightsaber was coming at her again from a different angle, then another, then another. She still had two hands on her shoto, he was moving so fast she didn’t have the time or window to grab her other saber with her dominant hand – problematic, because she knew as well as anyone that she wasn’t as good (anymore) with just one sabre.

She ducked, and tried to move away but his lightsaber blade was there, blocking her. _No_ , she didn’t want to do this, she didn’t want to actually fight back because then she might hurt him by accident, or he could....but he really wasn’t giving her any other choice. Ooooh this was bad. This was so bad.

Behind her, finally, she heard the ignition of another lightsaber and a second later a flash of blue intercepted the red. She stumbled backwards as Obi-Wan took her spot, catching her breath as she flipped her shoto to her left hand and grabbed her regular lightsaber off her belt. Very briefly, Ahsoka glanced behind her and saw the dark, shadowy figure that was Padmé running toward them, then she looked back at Obi-Wan, holding his lightsaber in a taut defense against Anakin’s.

“Wait!” he shouted, as Anakin released his blade and swung it down and then up, where Obi-Wan caught it. “Please –”

Her heart pounding in her chest, Ahsoka approached them slowly, sabres crossed before her. Obi-Wan backed away, and Anakin flipped his lightsaber around his hand. Ahsoka said, “Please, we’re your friends!”

Anakin’s voice, except it wasn’t really _Anakin’s_ voice but some filtered, altered version of it through the mask, muttered, “You’re my mission.”

He kept coming at them, flashing his lightsaber so fast it didn’t stay in the same place even for half a second. He was a powerful match, even for the both of them together, though Ahsoka had to admit it was easy to forget that it was _Anakin_ under that creepy black mask, and he kept coming and coming with one hard strike from his sabre after another –

Something happened. It was so fast that Ahsoka couldn’t really keep track of _what_ , exactly, but Anakin made some kind of clumsy move and Obi-Wan flipped Anakin’s lightsaber around in a circle so that it slipped from his mechanical fingers and fell to the ground, unignited. Obi-Wan pulled it into his left hand with the Force before Anakin could make another move.

The night was silent, other than the rustle of grass in the wind and the sound of Padmé’s running footsteps approaching. Anakin backed away from them, hunched over in the dual-colored light from their sabres like a feral animal, watching from behind the lenses of his mask.

“We’re going to talk to you,” Obi-Wan said carefully as Padmé ran up beside him, out of breath. “We just need you to hear us out –”

An invisible collar tightened itself around Ahsoka’s neck. She gasped, or at least she tried to, and dropped her shoto on the ground to bring a hand up to her neck reflexively. In the corner of her eye, she could see Obi-Wan do the same, and Padmé. Of course, of course they should have expected it, a Force-user like Anakin didn’t need a lightsaber to kill –

She felt herself lifted into the air, only a few centimeters but it was enough. She couldn’t breathe, she was suffocating, she was going to die like this, Anakin would be a Sith forever because they were all about to die and they were the only ones who could save him –

Then she went crashing to the ground, and her feet gave out from under her and she fell backwards, coughing and gasping for breath as Obi-Wan and Padmé did the same. Something hit her, something in the Force, a flash of terror and cold and horrible pain, hitting her like a fallen tree branch and then disappearing like it had never happened at all. She opened her eyes, not having realized they were closed, and sat up. Her cough sounded terrible, her hip and her back lekku hurt from falling on them so hard, and her head was swimming. The only light around her was blue, from Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. He was holding his throat with his free hand – the familiar, stolen lightsaber hilt had fallen on the ground – and he was staring at Anakin like his life depended on it so she did, too, igniting her own lightsaber again so she could see better. She hoped he wouldn’t take it as a threat.

Something was wrong with Anakin. He was on his knees now, his hands holding either side of his head, pressing against his temples, hunched over himself like he had been punched in the gut. A moment later, he wrenched the mask off his face and dropped it on the ground, gasping for breath. He had the most terrible, agonized look on his face.

Ahsoka looked sideways. Padmé was staggering to her feet so she did, too. Obi-Wan looked at them each in turn, mouthing, ‘Are you all right?’ Ahsoka nodded. Then, Obi-Wan cleared his throat and said to Anakin, his voice hoarse but audible and full of concern, “Are you hurt? Did we hurt you?”

Anakin didn’t answer. Ahsoka wasn’t even sure he recognized that the words were directed towards him. He wasn’t looking at them; he now had his right hand pressed firmly to his eyes while his left arm leaned against the ground for support. His breathing was loud, discernable over the hum of the two lightsabers and the occasional sound of wind, coming in gasps and then pausing for too long. Something wavered in the Force, a tiny whisper of pain, a blinking and tremoring candle of light that faded in and out. It was him, or her sense of him; Ahsoka could recognize Anakin in the Force any day, no matter how much time had passed.

Nobody spoke. Padmé shifted. With a sideways glance, Ahsoka saw her gripping her hands tightly in one another, though not in a way to keep warm. More like she wanted to reach out and touch Anakin, but had to physically restrain herself from doing so. Ahsoka’s eyes flicked to Obi-Wan, who appeared to be studying Anakin as if analyzing something.

Finally, Obi-Wan said softly, “Ahsoka, turn your lightsaber off.”

Her eyes widened. “What?!”

“Just do it,” he said impatiently, and deactivated his own. Hesitant, she complied, though she kept her hilt tight in her hand. The night was almost pitch-black now. Everything was shadowy and bluish and she could no longer clearly make out anyone’s face. Obi-Wan said to Anakin, “Is that better? Was it the light that bothered you?”

Ahsoka knew none of the humans could pick up on physical movement the way her montrals could, so she resolved to paying special attention to the space around her incase Anakin tried to pull something. She hoped he didn’t, but it didn’t seem likely, anyway. She felt and sort of saw him pull his hand away from his eyes and look up at them. He muttered, “I don’t need your help,” and Ahsoka had to bite her lip hard to stop a sudden fit of tears from falling – she had never, it felt like, heard anything as wonderful as the sound of his voice right here and now. She missed him so so so much.

“You don’t have to need it,” Obi-Wan said in the gentle voice of a Master reaching out to their Padawan in comfort. “You just have to accept it.”

A tiny sliver of something like nausea slid across Ahsoka’s old bond with Anakin as he stumbled to his feet, one hand gripping his knee to stay upright. In a strained voice, he said, “What do you _want_ from me?”

“To just give us some time to talk to you,” Obi-Wan said carefully. “That’s all. Why – why don’t we introduce ourselves to you?” He glanced sideways, and Padmé took a tiny step forward.

“My name is Padmé,” she said, and her voice sounded strained and quaky like she could barely choke the words out. “I’m not a Jedi, I’m a senator from the planet Naboo, and...well, I’m your wife.”

Ahsoka’s head snapped to the right. Wait, what? _Huh?_ Excuse – why did someone forget to tell Ahsoka that piece of information? It seemed a little too important to overlook here, and –

Obi-Wan interrupted her thoughts, saying, “I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi, though you probably know that by now. I was the one who trained you to be a Jedi, ever since you were a child, and I think I would be right to call myself your best friend.”

Ahsoka cleared her throat. “And I’m Ahsoka Tano,” she said, suddenly remembering back to Christophsis, a shiny youngling shipped out to a master who didn’t want her. “I was your Padawan learner – your Jedi apprentice. And your friend.”

Something else was wrapping around her sense of him in the Force, stronger this time, an ache behind her right eye and spreading throughout her head. Her heartbeat picked up its pace and she felt something swell in her chest, a cold sense of fear that wavered, like a holo that kept flickering in and out or a dying ship’s engine. She shivered involuntarily and rubbed her arms with her hands to warm herself up. Then, to distract herself from the discomfort, Ahsoka continued, “And you’re Anakin Skywalker. You were a Jedi Knight, and a general in the Clone War.”

“It’s all right if you don’t remember, that doesn’t matter to us,” Padmé said gently, though Ahsoka was sure all three of them knew that was a lie. Of _course_ it mattered. How could it not? “What really matters is that we want to keep the Sith far away from you.”

“We want to give you the freedom to make your own decisions from now on,” Obi-Wan added. “You don’t need to follow the Sith’s orders anymore if you don’t want to. Whatever _you_ want to do is up to you.”

Barely, Ahsoka could see Anakin shaking his head. “No,” he whispered. He was shivering, she could feel it now, he was so cold, cold cold cold, _freezing_ , but still she found herself sweating under her robes with anxiety that mostly wasn’t her own. Just barely, she thought she saw a tear stream down his cheek, but she couldn’t tell for sure. She had never in her entire life felt anyone this scared.

She could tell Obi-Wan felt it, too, because when he spoke again his voice was especially shaky. “Please, Anakin, just hear us out. We don’t know what the Sith have done to you and you certainly don’t have to tell us, but you don’t have to serve them anymore. We’re giving you a way out. If you come with us, they won’t be able to hurt you.”

Anakin shook his head more violently, and the wind blew his hair into his face. “You don’t know...what he’s capable of,” he uttered, his voice cracking from emotion and trembling from the cold. Ahsoka wondered if he meant Dooku or...the _other_ Sith. “If I don’t kill you, he’ll get me, I don’t know how but he’ll find me, somehow he’ll find me and....”

“He won’t,” Padmé said, wedging her fingers between her side and her opposite arms and squirming as the wind blew even harder. “Really, we can keep you safe. It’s going to be okay from now on, Ani. We’re here now, and it’s going to be okay.”

He cried out something that sounded like a sob, cradling the sides of his head in his hands as if trying to keep the pieces of his skull together. Ahsoka took a step closer. “You deserve so much better than this, Skyguy,” she said, mirroring Padmé’s use of nicknames, hoping it would have some effect. “We owe this to you. Even if you don’t remember, you’ve saved all of our lives time and time again. You’ve been protecting us and saving us from danger ever since we all met you.”

“And now it’s our turn to keep you safe instead,” Obi-Wan said.

Padmé added, pleading, “Please, Anakin –”

“Stop calling me that!” Anakin near-yelled suddenly, and for a second Ahsoka thought the earth beneath her feet shook but then she realized he had released a pulse wave of Force energy strong enough to nearly knock them down. He let out an agonized cry and then a blast of pain, stronger than any before, hit Ahsoka like a slap in the face, concentrated in her head, pounding to the beat of a drum. An involuntary groan escaped her. Her vision went fuzzy, but it passed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m sorry,” Padmé said breathlessly, and in her montrals Ahsoka felt Padmé reach out her hands towards him. Ahsoka peeked her eyes open, having closed them at some point, and everything was falling to pieces before her. Beside her, Obi-Wan was leaning over like the gravity was on too high, his free hand holding his knee to keep him upright. Anakin was kneeling on the ground again, his arms wrapped around himself, shaking, shaking, shaking, and she could hear his sharp breathing even over the sound of the blood rushing through her head.

Padmé, oblivious to the pain in the Force but aware that something was terribly wrong, was saying, “We just want to give you a home. Please, just think about that. A home.” She took a steadying breath. “Home. Where you can be with the people who love you, and who will keep you safe. Please, sweetheart, please....”

Another splitting pain shot into Ahsoka’s head. She heard a voice, but couldn’t understand it, couldn’t concentrate on anything, everything was just pain and fear and Anakin – no, Vader – no, _Anakin_ – a thought hit her, something about lightning, death, coldness, she was so cold, she was so scared, she had never been this scared, she had to kill them, if she didn’t she would die, she was going to die, die of cold or lightning or the splitting pain in her head, she was going to die die die die die....

“Ahsoka,” a voice said, feminine, familiar-ish. “Ahsoka, are you okay?”

She opened her eyes. She saw stars. Real stars, twinkling in the sky. There were two people on the sides of her vision. One of them put a hand on her shoulder.

“Ahsoka?” a different voice said, masculine. She flicked her eyes between the two people. It was dark, but – oh yeah, the Force. The Force told her it was Obi-Wan and Padmé.

No Anakin.

“What happened?” she asked no one in particular. Her voice was still hoarse from the cold and the choking.

Padmé said softly, “After you passed out, Ani sort of jumped and stared at you and started backing away, and I tried to talk to him but he kept saying ‘Leave me alone’ over and over. Then he grabbed his lightsaber, turned around, and ran towards the forest.”

A wave of emotion seemed to come out of nowhere, and Ahsoka felt her eyes fill up with tears. “He was so scared,” she whispered. She looked at Obi-Wan. “Did you feel it?” Obi-Wan nodded, and didn’t say anything. In the Force, tension and worry seeped through the unstable cracks in his self-defense. His grip on her shoulder was comforting but firm.

Padmé helped her sit up, and ran a few fingers down Ahsoka’s back headtail. “It’ll be okay, Ahsoka.”

She was crying now, she couldn’t help it. She shook her head in response to what Padmé had said. Residual emotions from Anakin, maybe, she didn’t know, but these feelings were _real_ , and she couldn’t stop them. “What if he dies again?”

“He won’t,” Padmé said, soothing, but Ahsoka could feel the worry in her plain as day. “Because we’re going to go after him, if you’re up to it.”

Ahsoka took a deep breath. She wasn’t, really, but she also wasn’t going to let him go. Not now, not when they were so close, and not when he was in so much pain. She wiped the tears off her cheeks, though they kept falling down, and nodded. They looked at Obi-Wan, who said distantly, “Agreed.”

Padmé hooked her arm through Ahsoka’s and helped pull her to her feet. Obi-Wan handed over her lightsabers. “He went in that direction,” Padmé said, and Ahsoka let herself be tugged along as the senator led the way.

She didn’t know what was going to happen next. She didn’t know if she _wanted_ to know. But she _did_ know that something dark was coming, something that blanketed the Force with a sheet of tension, and she knew that they needed to find Anakin _now_ , or else....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who reads and/or comments!!! I'm honestly just so happy to have you all along on this journey with me. I can't wait til you see how this leg of our journey wraps up! That sounds so cheesy but its true. I hope you're all doing well and if you're not I hope this fic gave you at least some joy!


	14. Lightning

Step over that tree root. Duck under that low-hanging branch. Walk. Don’t trip, don’t fall, don’t die, don’t forget to breathe, keep walking.

If there was one single, individual thing that Vader – Anakin – Vader – regretted most in his entire six plus months of memory, it had to be this.

They had been so kind. So warm, somehow, even in this cold freezing frigid hell-planet. Honestly, it was probably only just barely below freezing, and his clothes were designed to sustain him in temperatures like this for a certain period of time, but the truth was he no idea how long he had been on this planet, no idea what this planet was even _called,_ and no idea what destination he’d had in mind when he had run off in the first place.

_it’s our turn to keep you safe_

_you deserve so much better than this_

_you can be with the people who love you_

His head hurt so bad.

Take another step. Another. One more. Now keep going, just like that. It’s fine. It’s all right. Everything is okay. A woman’s voice in his head was saying, _we’re here now, and it’s going to be okay._

Why had he left them? Well, the fact that that girl had _passed out_ because his migraine had somehow been transferred over to her through a psychic connection he didn’t even know they’d had was a pretty big reason. Because if he couldn’t stop hurting Jedi, and civilians, and _the people who loved him_ then he wouldn’t ever be able to stop hurting _anyone_ and it was probably just better that he be alone for the rest of his life.

Home, they had said. Home. The people who loved him. They loved him. Why...why would they.... A sob escaped him, and the spike of pain that went straight through his brain stopped the thought from reaching conclusion. Pain _pain pain pain –_

He tripped over a root in the ground, but instinct brought his right hand to a tree branch and he grabbed it to keep from falling. His vision blurred, then cleared up, then blurred again. A moment later he was on the ground, though he didn’t remember when that might have happened, and he opened his eyes to the taste of vomit in the back of his throat and blood in his mouth. His muscles ached more than they had before, his limbs were too heavy to lift. Each breath felt like a stab in his throat and his lungs. His head pounded relentlessly. He couldn’t move. Even if he could have, he probably wouldn’t have wanted to. He’d never been this cold in all his life.

He was going to die here. It wasn’t really a wish, or a premonition, or anything at all. Just a feeling, worked out logically because if he couldn’t talk or stand or move, there was really no way he would survive out here. It was just the truth. The eventual conclusion to these circumstances. Vader took a deep breath and felt the cold air bite at his lungs, but his face was half-pressed into the dirt and he could taste the sourness of it in his mouth along with the vomit-y taste. He felt his heart beating like a drum against his chest. His metal arm was positioned uncomfortably under his side but he couldn’t find it in him to move even an inch.

He closed his eyes, and willed himself to sleep. It didn’t work. He didn’t know how long he lay there, aching and sad and too tired to be afraid anymore, and he didn’t know how much time had passed before he heard something over the rushing sound in his head. It might have been close, or far away, but it was – the clanking of battle droids, he would know that sound anywhere. His heart seemed to squeeze in a nauseating flutter of panic. They found him, Force _no_ the Confederate army found him, how did they find him? He had come to this planet alone, right? Not that he knew where this planet was. Maybe they were just patrols or scouts. They had to be, please they had to be because he couldn’t ever, ever go back to Sidious and his lightning and his evil laugh ever again, please please please –

Pass by, pass by, please don’t come over here, just keep going –

“Sir, humanoid life signs are coming from that direction.” The call came from the metallic, nasally-sounding vocal generator of one of the droids. Vader opened his eyes just barely and could see white lights illuminating the forest around them, disappearing and reappearing momentarily as the scouts slipped behind trees and bushes. There was still time, he thought, if he could get up now maybe he could still get away. Or, he could have anyway, if his arm and legs weren’t numb and if he had any energy or will at all. He let out a shaky breath, felt another tear slip out of his eye, and surrendered himself to fate.

It found him a moment later. “There he is! Get the medic over here!” Another few moments, and Vader felt rather than heard or saw two sets of footsteps, sentient, approaching him in a run, then kneeling down beside him. He heard the beeps of a portable medical scanner above him and felt two fingers press against the pulse at his neck. He opened his eyes again, but his vision was still blurry.

“No major injuries, core temperature thirty degrees, heart and breathing rate slowed,” one of them said. “He’s hypothermic, and it’s severe. He’s been out here too long. Postictal, too.” Vader heard him whistle at one of the droids. “Get me the medical capsule right now!”

The other person said, “Post – what?”

“Means he had a seizure not too long ago.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because I’m a doctor, you’re not, and I’ve seen him like this half a dozen times. Good enough?” The second snorted, and the first said, “Now help me get him onto the capsule, and try not to rustle him too much. I’d rather not have Lord Sidious’s most prized possession go into cardiac arrest before he gets back.”

Vader felt something swell in his chest, a thought of _I am_ not _his possession_ and a half-hearted urge to kill these people with his bare hands, but he had no energy even to want to try. He barely felt two sets of hands turn him over and hoist him onto something hard. His eyes closed against the blinding lights above him as a mask breathing warm oxygen into his lungs was fit around his nose and mouth. The capsule he was lying on radiated artificially-generated heat but he was still shivering.

The non-medical personnel’s voice said, “You – scan for life signs around this area.” Then he said, quieter so it must have been to the doctor, “Wait – isn’t he supposed to be on meds for that?”

“Yeah, but he’s been away too long and can’t take them himself, we do it via hypo back at the lab.”

“Will he make it back?”

“It’ll be our heads if he doesn’t.”

Vader registered a sting of nervous anticipation in the Force, not his own. “Well, then, let’s go.”

“Right – move out.”

He felt the medical capsule he lay on being turned around and pushed forward. Even through his eyelids, the flashing bright lights added to the stinging behind Vader’s eyes and the pounding on one side of his skull. Still shivering. Still aching. Still too tired to move. Everything was silent besides the footsteps of droids and walkers and two humans and the crack of tree branches beneath their feet and the rustle of wind in the foliage. Then –

“Sir, my sensors are detecting several humanoid life forms approaching from that direction.”

“How many?” a sentient voice demanded.

“Three, sir.”

“Damn – open fire on that area, wide range.”

“Roger, roger.”

The sound of blasters firing by the dozen sent a bolt of panic lacing through Vader, constricting in his chest. A few seconds later, he heard the ignition of a lightsaber, then two more, and his aching head instinctively snapped toward the direction where the sound had come from. Something snapped within him, a racing thought of _please don’t let them take me back to Sidious don’t let them please help me help don’t let them take me back_ –

Vader forced his eyes open. Despite the whine that he couldn’t stop escaping from him, he raised his head an inch, then another, over the low side of the capsule and in the direction where he saw flashes off light, bursts of red and waving flashes of green and blue....

His eyes squeezed shut again and he collapsed back. He tried to make a noise, as if the Jedi would even be able to hear him, the lights hurt so bad, Vader took a deep breath and with an ache throughout his whole body pushed out a thought of _help me_ that any trained Force-sensitive in the area would have picked up on.

A voice that sounded like it was coming from down a long tunnel said, “Dammit, pass me that sedative hypo, he’s agitated –”

Vader was too tired to resist. He felt the cold metal of the hypo press against his neck. A few seconds later, everything was fuzzy, like the world around him was vibrating, he felt numb all over, even if he had energy he wouldn’t have been able to move....

Everything was black. He couldn’t even see the blinding lights through his eyelids anymore. There was a quiet, muted jolt in the Force, a flash of pain, a burning sensation and then....

* * *

When Vader woke up to the hardness of metal beneath him and the vibrating thrum of a hyperdrive, he figured out almost immediately where he was. A Confederate cruiser. Well, that wasn’t unusual. Then, a moment later, when he registered the complete inability to feel the Force around him and noticed that his wrists were shackled together by stun cuffs, he put the rest of the pieces together.

They had lost. Those people, his...whoever they were to him...they had lost... they had failed to keep him safe like they had promised.... Well, he had told them, hadn’t he? And he hadn’t really expected anything more. Sidious took what he wanted, as always. No negotiations. No mercy. No notion of safety could ever exist while the Sith were at large.

He hoped, inexplicably, that the others were okay. His Jedi Master and his Jedi apprentice and his _wife._

He didn’t expect to ever find out.

* * *

Through the black halls of Tyranus’s Serenno palace, Vader walked. His hands were in cuffs, an armed escort of droids and doctors surrounding him as if they expected an escape attempt. As if they thought he would even try when the Force was so absent that he felt like a ghost. They knew just as well as he did that no escape attempt could ever work. He was powerless.

They halted, and a door opened. Vader looked inside and felt his heart pick up its pace, his lower lip trembling like he was still hypothermic, his throat swelling. A droid nudged the tip of its blaster into his back and he went into the room. Two firm pairs of hands grabbed either of his arms to restrain him while a doctor undid the cuffs, then they pulled off his combat jacket and forced him down into the electro-chair where the metal restraints activated over his forearms. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit down to stop his trembling lip and let the doctors do their work, putting the heart monitor onto his finger, the electrodes to his chest, the IV in his arm.

He waited, and waited, shaking while the noises of working medics shuffled around him, activating the machinery that would take it all away again. Maybe, Vader tried to tell himself, maybe it would be better when it was over. When his memories were burned out of his head.  Life had been so much simpler barely a week or two ago.

The main door to the room hissed open. He knew immediately who it was from the hush that came over everyone else in the room. His shaking got worse, and he felt so nauseous he might throw up on the spot. Sidious approached, then stopped before him, and Vader looked up into his yellow eyes.

“You have been a great disappointment to me, Vader,” he said, quiet and menacing. “You disgrace the Sith and your own Force potential, and you inconvenience me by repeatedly necessitating my return. You are weak.”

There were a lot of things Vader could have, and maybe would have, said, if he’d had the guts. _You kidnapped me_ , was one. _You took everything from me,_ another. Instead, what he said was, “I’ll kill him for you...the Jedi, I – I’ll kill him this time....”

“Kenobi is no longer your concern,” Sidious said, brushing him off. “He and his companions were killed by the troops that I sent to find you. When you have been reconditioned, you will continue your work as if Kenobi had never existed.”

Suddenly, Vader remembered: a jolt of pain in the Force right before he had passed out on that medcapsule...but no, they couldn’t be dead, a few droids couldn’t kill two Jedi...Sidious had always lied to him...but what if this time he was telling the truth.... His heart hurt, worse than he even knew it possibly could. He sputtered, “But Master...they knew me....”

Sidious scowled, and gestured at the doctor standing nearest the chair. “Quiet him.”

Vader shook his head desperately, felt himself choking up. “No, no, they knew me, Master, they said that I knew them, too, they – they _knew_ me – no, please –” But the doctor was already grabbing his chin and forced the bite guard between his teeth. Vader let his eyes squeeze shut as a sob wracked his whole body, then another and another.

“I don’t know how many times I shall have to repeat myself,” Sidious said coldly, “That Sith do not _beg._ ” With the last word, blue lightning shot from his fingertips straight into Vader’s chest, then his legs, and his arms, and his head. It poured through him and over him and under, it ignited in his veins so they felt like he had lava inside him instead of blood. Fastened to the chair by his arms, he seized and shook and screamed until he couldn’t take it anymore and then longer still.

The lightning stopped. His eyes were open, but he couldn’t see anything. He was breathing in gasps that offered no relief. He twitched against the restraints, his muscles jerking of their own accord. He could smell smoke, probably rising off his own skin or maybe his clothes. A moment later the lightning had started again even worse, or maybe it wasn’t worse, it might have just felt like it because the pain was building building everywhere in Vader’s body, or Anakin’s body, or whoever he was, there wasn’t an inch of his body that didn’t feel like it was on _fire_ –

He couldn’t remember when it stopped. He didn’t know if it had been an hour ago, or ten seconds, but somewhere off to the side a heart monitor was going wild. Sidious was talking again, his voice sounded muted and muffled but Vader was pretty sure that that was just him.

“I do not have time to continue returning here every time you make a stupid mistake,” he said. “There are many greater things than you in this galaxy that require my attention, and I tire of fixing your errors. From now on, Lord Tyranus will oversee your reconditioning, and when you return to the field you will be accompanied at all times by trained handlers to make sure you obey all orders. I will not have you make such grievous mistakes again.”

Then, Sidious turned to the side and said, “Wipe him.”

A nervous voice answered him, “My lord, with so many repeated shocks there is some risk –”

“I said, _do it._ ”

“As you wish, sir.”

It hurt even worse than it ever had, and when Vader woke up later he found that he wasn’t entirely sure what had happened in the last few days.

* * *

 

Life went on, though it seemed to stay still. The Force was coming back bit by bit, getting brighter and brighter like the individual minutes of a sunrise. Tyranus, in his own words, had been ‘delegated the task of overseeing the restoration of Vader to a condition in which he could continue the Sith’s work.’ Vader was, despite both Tyranus’s and Sidious’s frequently voiced observations, smart enough to figure out that that meant ‘fix the broken Sith weapon so he can kill more Jedi so that we don’t have to do it ourselves.’

Every minute of every day his joints and his head seemed to be aching so intensely he was sometimes sure his bones were about to crumble and break apart. Maybe that was why this whole ‘recovery’ thing (personally, Vader didn’t feel that torturing someone into submission exactly constituted recovery, but he was apparently the sole minority on that account) was going so poorly. And it wasn’t like he could just _tell_ them about the shooting pains that zipped through his body when he tried to sit or stand because they slapped him or beat him every time he tried to talk. _And_ , even if they _had_ let him talk then he wouldn’t even have been able to explain why he just didn’t have the strength to lift a spoon to his mouth three times a day when they put food before him, but he thought it might have been because simply existing took all the energy he had to expend. So it was that they hooked him up to an IV and threaded a feeding tube into him and left him there feeling as if he were part of a machine, and worth just as little as one.

The electro-chair treatment didn’t stop. As always, it had him shaking and anxious beforehand and dazed and confused afterwards. He didn’t fight it, not anymore, but he did always seem to end up crying to himself while expressionless doctors treated him like an animal at the vet. And Vader tried, he tried _so hard_ , to figure out why the situation he was in now was different from before, because there was just something about the way everyone acted that struck him as odd, but he just couldn’t remember what it was. Still, a small part of him, immeasurably small, was grateful for the treatment. Whenever it ended, they would bring him back to his room and just have him sit still, or lie down, doing nothing. It was the only time when nothing was expected of him, when he could just...be.

Always, though, there was something on the edge of his mind, something he was sure hadn’t been there before. A memory, maybe, or a feeling, or the memory of a feeling. Something warm, like a beacon on a foggy night leading him to safety. Something cold, too, the fear of losing everything he had. And there was a name on his mind, one he couldn’t ever seem to stop thinking about, one that he was inexplicably sure was actually his, from a time that was either very long ago or surprisingly recent.

_Anakin...._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T-h-a-n-k y-o-u to everyone who read and/or commented!!! Unfortunately a little more prolonged suffering for our characters is necessary for what's to happen next. Always remember: after the rain, comes the rainbow! The next chapter will be up on March 5th. :


	15. Girl Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello....it's me.... I'm posting this a little bit early because I feel run down and could use a pick me up and I guess knowing people are reading my stuff makes me feel better. Have fun!

By the time they had destroyed the last of the droids, the lights of the Separatist convoy had already faded into the dense blackness of the forest. In the corner of her eye, Ahsoka saw Obi-Wan kick at the ground in an uncharacteristic show of fury. “Blast!”

Though she was still shaking, she wheeled around to him and Padmé. “Well, don’t just stand there,” she exclaimed. “We can still catch them, come on!”

“It’s too late,” Obi-Wan said, his voice low and devoid of hope. He was facing away from them, his palm against the trunk of a tree, shoulders slumped and head bowed. “They’re gone.”

Ahsoka felt her hand clench around both her sabre hilts. “Are you crazy? He called out to us to help him, and that’s what we need to do!”

Padmé’s head snapped up. “What?”

Obi-Wan wheeled around. Unrestrained irritation bit at Ahsoka in the Force. “Do you think I didn’t sense it? Because I did, Ahsoka. But what I’ve also realized is that there is probably an entire battalion of droids waiting for us to follow them to their ship where they can either kill us or capture us, and I’m not particularly keen to let the Sith do to us what he did to Anakin.”

Padmé said again, “What do you mean he called out to us?”

“So you’re just giving him up?” Ahsoka near-yelled at Obi-Wan, pointing in the direction the Separatists had fled. “We can take them! We at least have to try!”

Obi-Wan snapped, “We can’t save Anakin if we’re all dead!”

“Do you think if it was one of us, Anakin would just let us be taken back to Sith headquarters? Oh, right – you don’t _know_ what Anakin would do because he’s in the hands of the Separatists _right now!”_

“Excuse me!” Padmé said. She was sitting on a fallen log, her palm pressing down on the blaster wound in her shoulder. “Some people aren’t Force sensitive and would like to know what exactly my husband called out to us.”

Obi-Wan exhaled sharply. “He asked for us to help him, that’s all.” He looked back at Ahsoka, who felt her teeth grind together. He was speaking in that eerily calm tone he used when he was upset. “And as much as I would absolutely love to do that, it is no longer possible for us to do so. It is too dangerous.”

“I don’t care!” Ahsoka shouted. “I’m not letting them take him back! I’m going after him, and if you won’t come then I guess I’ll do it alone!”

The last thing she saw before she turned around was Obi-Wan and Padmé exchanging a startled glance. She still had her lightsabers unignited in her hands when she started off, but within a few seconds she heard running footsteps and a moment later, Obi-Wan and Padmé had reached her and grabbed her arms to stop her.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Obi-Wan said chillingly. “I said it’s too dangerous.”

Padmé’s voice as a little warmer, but still reminded Ahsoka of the strict crèche masters at the temple. “I am _not_ going to lose you to.”

She tried to wrestle them off, but they were too firm. “I don’t care! I’m not leaving him!”

“Do you think you’re the only one who cares about him?” Obi-Wan said harshly, letting go of her arm and stepping in front of her to block her path. Padmé’s grip loosened but stayed still. “Do you think you’re the only one of us who’s lost someone important to them?”

Anger was swelling inside her now, and she snapped, “It’s not the same!”

In the Force, Padmé felt hurt. “How is it not the same?”

“Because!” Ahsoka exclaimed. “You’re only with him when he’s on Coruscant! I was with him _all_ the time!” She looked at Master Kenobi. “And you’re on the Jedi Council! You’re supposed to be above things like _feelings_!”

Obi-Wan’s jaw visibly tightened. “Well, forgive me for not being perfect.”

Padmé said, “This is not about who knew him the best or who was with him the most. Ahsoka, I want to go find him just as much as you do, but Obi-Wan is right – we can’t save him if we’re dead or captured.”

Tears that were both sad and angry swelled in Ahsoka’s eyes. “But we might not ever see him again.”

“We will,” Obi-Wan said, his voice softer now, but unsure in its confidence. “He’s too powerful for the Sith to dispose of him like they did Ventress. I’m certain they’ll send him back out against the Jedi.”

“Yeah, after he’s been brainwashed again!”

“There’s nothing we can do, Ahsoka,” Padmé said. “It’s too late.”

There were a thousand million things she could have said, but even a dozen insults and pleas and fits wouldn’t change the fact that they were right. Glumly, she nodded. Padmé squeezed her hand once and then walked back over to sit on the fallen log, wincing every time she moved her arm. Obi-Wan wrapped his cloak around himself, and Ahsoka kicked at the ground.

After a pause, Ahsoka said, “How could they have known where he was, anyway?” The Separatists had gotten there too soon to be reinforcements, and they had known his location too precisely. How....

Obi-Wan answered, sounding tired and worn out. “They probably implanted him with a tracking chip.”

“Like he had when he was a slave,” Padmé added quietly.

Ahsoka whipped around. “Wait, what? When he was a _slave_?”

Padmé and Obi-Wan glanced at each other, then at her. “Anakin was born into slavery,” Obi-Wan said. He sounded more bitter and scornful than Ahsoka had ever heard him. “Bought and sold in the markets on Tatooine, as if he and his mother were imported goods.”

“Outer Rim slaves are implanted with chips that detonate if they try to escape,” Padmé supplemented, almost dreamily.

“Let’s hope the Sith value his life more than the Hutts did,” Obi-Wan murmured.

Ahsoka let herself collapse against a tree. Numbing sadness seemed to fill all her veins and arteries and muscle tissue. Anakin’s voice seemed to echo through her mind, saying of his past, _I don’t want to talk about it._ Slavery, on Tatooine...marriage, to Padmé...there were a lot of things her master hadn’t wanted to tell his Padawan. She wished she knew what they all were. Though, she realized suddenly, she probably now knew more about Anakin’s life than Anakin did, at present, and that wasn’t a very comforting thought.

Obi-Wan let out a final, heavy sigh and said to Padmé, “Do you think you’re up to heading back?” She nodded, wincing again as she stood, and with a reluctant glance over her shoulder, Ahsoka followed.

* * *

 

They’d hardly been back for ten minutes in the blasting artificial heat of the Nubian yacht when the call came. Padmé’s head snapped to attention and she activated the communications. A moment later, the flickering blue figure of Bail Organa appeared. He looked immensely relieved to see them. “At last! I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Where are you?” Then he glanced around, saw Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, and added, “Getting into trouble again, I suppose.”

Padmé, in a somber tone that betrayed the toying smile on her face, said, “Did I miss it?”

“Only the appeals,” said Senator Organa. He had a look on his face that Ahsoka had never seen before, one of disappointment that he seemed to try to hide. “The vote is in two days. There’s still time. Not much, but we can still make an impact. We’ve been working nonstop.”

Padmé bit her lip. “Okay,” she said, “I’ll be there soon,” and she shut the comm off. Then, she leaned all the way back in her seat and let out a heavy breath.

“What was that about?” Ahsoka asked.

“There’s an upcoming vote on whether the Republic should make serious attempts at peace with the Separatists,” Padmé said, speaking too gloomily about something that normally would have her the opposite.

“But that’s great,” Ahsoka said, leaning forward. “That’s what you’ve been trying to do for years!”

“I know.”

Ahsoka glanced at Obi-Wan, who wasn’t looking at either of them, then back at Padmé. “Come on, I’m sure you can still convince some undecided voters!”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try,” Padmé said, her voice utterly devoid of hope. As miserable as Ahsoka felt, as gray as everything seemed, the way Padmé sounded so unsure of anything was so... _wrong._ Ahsoka wished she knew how she could help.

“Then you should be going back,” Obi-Wan said, standing abruptly and heading out of the cockpit. His voice sounded strained and he still avoided eye contact. Ahsoka stood as well and started to follow him, but he put his hand out and said, “Why don’t you go back with Padmé, Ahsoka? Her ship is much more comfortable.” Which, Ahsoka knew, translated from Obi-Wan into Basic as, _I want to be alone._

“Wait!” Padmé cried after him, seeming to snap back into her usual self. “You’re not going to try to follow them, are you?”

Finally, he looked at them, though his eyes were distant. “There’s nothing to follow,” he said. “They’ll be halfway through hyperspace by now. We’ve missed our chance.”

Obi-Wan went back to the Jedi shuttle, and as Padmé warmed up her yacht’s engines they watched the other ship rise and depart from their complete and utter failure of a visit to this planet. A few minutes later, they were in hyperspace, en route to Coruscant.

Ahsoka pointed over to the other room with her thumb. “Come on, let me have a look at that wound.”

Padmé touched her shoulder and appeared to wince. “It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

Ahsoka put her hands on her hips. “I’m the one who fights in the war, _Senator_ , I think I know when a blaster wound is ‘fine’ or not.”

The senator smiled tiredly and led the way to the back. Briefly, she went into her private room and changed, coming back out into the open space in a casual sleeveless shirt. Ahsoka peeled away the towel Padmé had pressed to the wound and let herself frown. It wasn’t that bad of a wound, but Padmé was a senator, she wasn’t supposed to get hurt like this, it was so _wrong..._.

She set to work, cleaning the burn with water and bacta and wrapping it up in a bandage. Eventually, after a long time staring absentmindedly at the wall, Padmé said, “Ahsoka, what happened back there?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why were you and Obi-Wan effected like that? I’ve never seen Jedi – well, other than Anakin, that is, overwhelmed like that.”

“Oh,” Ahsoka said, putting the spare medical supplies back in the kit. She shrugged. “Well, normally we can sort of keep control over how much we let ourselves be exposed to other people’s emotions and pain, but it was just that...neither of us have felt him in over a year, and I guess we got a little carried away.” She frowned. “Even despite the headache thing, I just couldn’t stop wanting to feel him, you know?”

Padmé looked away from her, brown eyes distant. “Sometimes,” she said quietly, “I wish more than anything that I had the Force. Not usually, I mean, it’s not like it’s something that keeps me up at night. But when I’m with you, or Obi-Wan, or Anakin especially, I just...see the way it effects you, and I wonder what that’s like.”

Ahsoka bit her lip. She wouldn’t know how to begin explaining it, so she didn’t even bother to try. Instead, after fiddling with the hem of her armband for a moment, she nudged Padmé in the side to change the subject. “So, _marriage!”_

Padmé nodded, with barely even a weak smile. “Yeah. Sorry to have kept it from you, but, well...it happened before you came around, and we never really told anyone....”

“That’s okay,” Ahsoka said, shrugging like it didn’t actually matter to her. “I just think it’s amazing that you managed to keep it a secret this whole time. I mean, I knew there was _something_ going on with you two, but I never would have thought you were married, you know?”

Instead of responding, Padmé pressed her eyes shut and bowed her head. An awkward minute later, she looked back up. She said, “I’m sorry, Ahsoka, I just don’t really feel like talking right now. I think I’ll call it a night.”

“Oh,” Ahsoka said again, letting her face fall. She looked away. “Okay...I get it, I’ll just, um...I’ll go keep an eye on the ship.” Padmé flashed her a smile that looked more like a grimace and left her alone. Ahsoka got up and walked slowly to the bridge. Inside, she collapsed in a seat, put her chin in her hand, and swiveled back and forth in her chair like a jittery Jedi initiate in interplanetary relations class.

No, really, it was fine. Honestly. Really. Everyone else wanted to be alone, and that was fine. It was fine that Anakin had run off because _she_ had passed out. Fine that Obi-Wan had saddled her off onto Padmé because he wanted to fly back alone. Fine that Padmé didn’t _want_ to be saddled with her in the first place. Everything was _fine._

Ugh. What a joke.

* * *

 

Hours later, Ahsoka was startled awake by the sound of the cockpit door opening. She was still huddled in her chair from earlier, and she must have fallen asleep some time ago because all her joints ached from being curled in the same position for too long. She stretched, and looked at Padmé, who smiled at her and handed her a tray with a cup of water and a small breakfast meal on it.

“I’m sorry if I upset you last night,” Padmé said, sitting in the chair next to Ahsoka. “I didn’t mean to give you the cold shoulder. I just couldn’t juggle my thoughts and a conversation at the same time.”

“It’s fine,” Ahsoka said, maybe lying or maybe not.

“I thought I’d ask if you wanted to come with me to the Senate when we get back,” she said. “I know politics isn’t really your thing, but I thought maybe you’d want to spend some time together.”

Ahsoka took a sip of water, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t want to get in the way.”

“You won’t,” Padmé assured her. “Besides, the more people we have fighting for peace, the better a case we’ll have. Not to mention that you’re a Jedi, and a Padawan at that.” She winced. “Not that I’m trying to use you, or anything. I’d just really like it if you came.”

Ahsoka thought of Obi-Wan’s avoidant gaze, and the coldness of Sharlissia, and the impersonality of the Jedi and decided yes, actually, at the moment she would rather be with someone who actually expresses her feelings than those who thought emotions were taboo. So she said, “Yeah, sure.”

Padmé beamed, and prepared to pull them out of hyperspace when the warning beacon sounded.

* * *

 

“Thank the stars you’ve returned,” Bail Organa said, striding into Padmé’s office with Senator Mon Mothma beside him. “We need your help.”

Padmé snapped her head up. If Ahsoka hadn’t known better, she would have thought all distress had simply vanished. “Tell me everything I’ve missed.”

“Since you left, the language of the bill has been altered to say that the Chancellor would personally be given the authority to create a committee, which would then decide on how to proceed in peace negotiations,” Senator Mothma summarized. “It is not strictly a Senate committee, so he would have choice of any government official including bureaucrats and military personnel. At this time, it is unclear whether a Jedi would qualify for a position.”

“The best we can do right now,” Senator Organa added, “Is to convince as many senators as possible to vote in favor of the bill. We can figure out the specifications later.” He fiddled with something on his datapad. “I’m sending you a list of representatives we’ve not yet been able to speak with, if you could meet with as many of them as you can –”

“I understand,” Padmé said. She looked down at the list, scrolling through it. From the side, Ahsoka could see how long it was. Padmé’s face was as calm and stoic as the most wizened Jedi Master, but beneath the layers of dress and makeup Ahsoka could sense her trepidation.

After a minute, the two senators left, and Padmé looked at Ahsoka with a cautious bravery Ahsoka could only pretend to emulate. She said, “Ready?”

No, Ahsoka wasn’t. Oh, may the Force be with them....

* * *

 

To start off what Ahsoka predicted would be a tiresome and stressful day in and out of meetings, they met with Senator Edcel bar Gane of Roona, who sat in his high-backed chair with his hands together before him. As Padmé and Ahsoka sat down, he said in a chillingly impersonal tone, “Are you under the protection of the Jedi again, Senator Amidala?”

Padmé leaned forward eagerly. “Actually, Padawan Tano is with me today to remind the representatives that it is living beings who are fighting –”

“I have no interest in what the Jedi do with their own,” bar Gane said, sounding bored. “What I am interested in is how you can possibly defend a call by the Republic for peace when it was only last year that a similar piece of legislation ended in bloodshed. I do not suppose you have forgotten that the Separatists attacked us at our heart, in the Senate Building itself, at the very moment when a similar bill was on the floor?”

“I, too, was there the day of those acts of terror, Senator,” Padmé said patiently. “But you must take into consideration what has changed since that attack. Since the last vote, both sides have become much worse for wear, and it is not us who are bearing the full brunt of the war but the people, on both Republic and Separatist worlds. Even though the military commanders of the Confederacy are inflicting attacks upon our people, the members of the Separatist Parliament recognize that the economy of each government cannot last under the strain this war has put on both sides. With the absence of General Grievous –”

“The death of Grievous changed nothing, so far as I can tell,” bar Gane drawled. “The Separatists continue to attack us at every opportunity. They are a collection of barbarians whose only language is violence.”

“The actions of the Separatist Droid Army do not accurately reflect the attitude of those who operate the Confederacy of Independent Systems,” Padmé countered. “You claim you are not interested in how the Jedi operate in the war, and you can correct me if I’m wrong but I assume you feel that same indifference towards the clone army. Although the military and Senate are linked in that they are both government bodies, they function separately enough that the opinions and beliefs of our Senate do not in any way effect the operation of the army. It is exactly the same with the Separatists.”

“An interesting point, Senator,” bar Gane said, leaning his elbow on the armrest. He considered them for a moment, and then said, “You, Jedi. Do you feel there is a significant gap in the operation of the Senate and the Grand Army of the Republic?”

Ahsoka gulped. She had _not_ expected this. She glanced at Padmé, who nodded encouragingly, and said to the senator, “Well, when I’m out on the battlefield, the Senate is never really something I hear about. Our orders always come from the Jedi Council and the military, so I guess it is pretty separate. And...I’ve only ever once met a Separatist senator, so I’m never really exposed to their Senate, either. So yeah, I would say it’s very detached.”

Bar Gane nodded. “I suppose I have never thought of the war in precisely that way. Indeed, the only news of Jedi and clones that ever seems to reach my ears is casualty counts.” He stroked his chin, looking thoughtful, and then glanced at them. “I will consider what you’ve said, Senator Amidala, though I do not think any peace process could be as simple as you make it out to be.”

Padmé stood up. “I know that all too well, Senator bar Gane. Thank you very much for your time.” She bowed, and Ahsoka followed her out, and when the door to the senator’s antechamber had hissed shut behind them they glanced at each other and squealed.

“I can’t believe it!” Padmé said happily. “That was a good start, although I am sorry he put you on the spot like that.”

“It’s okay,” Ahsoka shrugged. “Who’s next?”

* * *

 

All afternoon, they made the rounds, visiting those on the list that Senator Organa had given them that were available to be seen.

To one senator that Ahsoka had already forgotten the name of, Padmé said, “During the last year alone, military spending has accounted for almost half of government expenditures. If we were to achieve peace with the Separatists, putting aside for now how long that would take, we could lessen our military spending and increase spending in areas that have been dramatically neglected during the war, such as social welfare for those who have lost their jobs or who have been displaced from their homes or planets...”

To another, “And clones have hardly been the only ones fighting, either, many planets have local militant groups that often recruit children or people who otherwise shouldn’t be forced or persuaded to fight. If we could only end the fighting on a large scale we could focus on demilitarizing these smaller groups so that there are fewer unnecessary deaths in local communities.” (“Why should I care about people on a planet that is not my own?” the Iktotchi representative Padmé was trying to reach snapped at her.) “Because,” Padmé answered, “If a planet’s population can maintain its own safety and security without the Republic’s support, the Republic would be able to save billions of credits per year that it could use in other areas, such as education and social welfare and paying off debts from the war....”

Ahsoka may not have been a politician by any means (not even _close_ ), but in her opinion the day seemed to be going pretty well. Padmé was, as ever, passionate and convincing, her points well-thought out and eloquent. Ahsoka could tell she had been working on these arguments for weeks, and Padmé’s sureness of herself even with this second loss of Anakin was nothing short of inspiring.

So it was that they met with Nix Card, Muun representative of the Banking Clan, who, as Padmé had remarked to Ahsoka before their meeting, was rude and conniving and money-grubbing and almost certainly in favor of the war from both a personal and working perspective. Just as Padmé finished making a good point about the absurdly high number of clone deaths that could be avoided if the fighting ended in numerous less-than-vital campaigns, Card stood from his chair and faced the window with his hands held behind his back.

“Senator Amidala,” he said, “The clones were bred to die in combat, and I personally have never seen any indication that they want any more than to do just that. After all, are they not conditioned to be entirely devoted to the Republic?”

Padmé’s face was stoic as ever. “I realize it may seem as if that were true, Representative, but the clones are human beings, and just because they were grown in a laboratory does not mean there lives are worthless.”

“I never said they are worthless,” Card said, glancing at her. “As you know, the Banking Clan is the Republic’s primary means of paying for additional clone troops. I am very much aware of how much each clone is worth.”

“A living being does not have monetary value,” Padmé said carefully. “The clones are not slaves. Just because their job is to fight does not mean we should treat them as if they were battle droids. They are not expendable. Of course, I cannot speak for them, but....” She cleared her throat, and glanced at Ahsoka, a plea in her eyes. Oh, no, don’t you _dare –_ “Well, Padawan Tano is much closer to the clones than I am, of course. What do you think, Commander?”

It was almost hard to tell, but the Muun looked almost amused. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Ahsoka as if he wished to be entertained. With a crease of her brow, Ahsoka sat a little straighter in her chair. “Representative, have you ever met a clone before? Have you ever talked with one?”

He waved a hand through the air. “My business is with money, child, not with artificial soldiers.”

In the Force, Ahsoka sensed Padmé’s nervousness. Oh, there were a _lot_ of things she wanted to say to this tall-headed, selfish, ugly alien, but she would keep her cool. She took a deep breath. “Well, if you ever have _time_ to talk with one then I think you should, because maybe then you would see how every clone is not _just_ a copy of one Mandalorian’s DNA. Every clone has his own personality, and his own name. Just because they were grown in tubes on Kamino doesn’t mean that their lives and deaths are worth only money. Their education system does teach them to be loyal to the Republic, but they aren’t pre-programmed machines. They have thoughts, and feelings, and even if they’re willing to die in the line of duty doesn’t mean they _want_ to die in battle.” She took another deep breath. “I’ve seen thousands of clones die in the last two years, and they’re doing it in order to make our galaxy safe. They’re brave, and strong, and – and –”

“And both they and the Jedi have been dying for years,” Padmé finished. “Even if negotiations of peace can’t end the war in an instant, which of course they cannot, we would at least see lower casualty rates.” She stared hard at the representative. “If you need me to put it in your own terms, that would be millions of credits flowing through the economy that had not been spent commissioning more clones or providing for the medical care of those who were wounded.”

All of a sudden, the comm unit on the senator’s desk buzzed and Padmé jumped slightly in her seat. Card activated it, and his assistant said, _“Lott Dod and Mak Plain here to see you, sir.”_

“Send them in,” Card said, and Ahsoka shot an alarmed look at Padmé, who still kept her cool. “You forget, Senator Amidala, that I am not a member of your Republic, necessarily. The Banking Clan has no stake in who wins or who loses this war. You would do well to remember that.”

The door opened, and another Muun and a Neimoidian walked in. Ahsoka knew them both – Mak Plain was a leading member of the Banking Clan and Dod was the senator for the Trade Federation. Both were slimy and commonly known as Sepper conspirators.

“I see you may have beaten us to the punch, Senator Amidala,” Lott Dod said as Padmé rose to acknowledge them. Ahsoka hastily clambered to her feet, still feeling flushed after that rant to Card. “Or, that is what I would have said if you had been here during the debates. I wonder if you are not as devoted to peace as you once were? Why else would you have let yourself be absent from the Senate during such a critical time?”

Ahsoka felt both her hands curl into fists, but Padmé ignored his words and turned to Card. “Representative, please, if I could just have a moment more of your time –”

“I’m afraid I have to agree with the delegate from the Trade Federation, Senator,” Card said blandly. “I’m sure I would have listened _ardently_ to what you had to say during the debates, but my mind is already made up.”

“Are you sure?” Padmé asked, putting her hands together in one final plead.

“Good day, Senator Amidala,” he said, not looking at her, and Ahsoka watched as Padmé frowned, then straightened her back and walked proudly out of the room.

When they had returned to Padmé’s office seven floors up, Ahsoka burst out with what she had been dying to say for ten minutes. “Can you _believe_ that guy?”

Padmé just shook her head. “I’m so used to this kind of treatment I don’t even think about it anymore,” she said miserably. Then she put her hand to her forehead. “They were right. I should have been here.”

Ahsoka crossed her arms over her chest. “Hey, what kind of talk is that?”

The senator peeked at her through her fingers and let herself have an exhausted smile. “Pessimistic talk, I guess. I suppose I’m a pessimist now.”

“You can’t _just_ be Senator Amidala of Naboo, you know,” Ahsoka said softly. “You’re a _person_ , not just a legislator.” At that, Padmé laughed out loud. “Did I say something?”

Padmé waved it off. “It’s nothing. You just...reminded me of something Anakin told me a long time ago.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Padmé leaning back against the sofa with her eyes closed. Eventually, the senator said, “I just don’t see how every...government official, every bureaucrat, can be so cold-hearted.” She looked at Ahsoka. “I’ll admit, at the beginning of the war, I had trouble seeing the clones as individual people, too. I was at Geonosis, but I had only learned about their existence about a few hours before. But since then – well, you know.”

Ahsoka did know. “The Jedi are all about...detached compassion. Caring for others, but not being emotionally dependent on them. What baffles me is that everyone else in the universe is allowed to indulge in their feelings, yet us, the detached Jedi, seem to be the only ones who care about the clones besides the clones themselves. Even the Kaminoans don’t....”

Padmé smiled sadly. “You did well in there, Ahsoka. I’m proud of you.”

Ahsoka shrugged, bashful. “I’m proud of you, too. And I’m glad you asked me to come. Seeing you in action is...inspiring.”

The senator laughed. “Well, that’s a new one for me. Thank you.” She glanced out the window. The sky was beginning to turn pink, the low-hanging sun reflecting off the chrome of the buildings outside. Padmé said, “What say we grab some dinner and then get back to it?”

Ahsoka grinned and followed her out the door.

* * *

 

That night, Ahsoka ended up crashing at Padmé’s apartment. She was still in the same outfit she’d been before they even went to Sharlissia, so Padmé offered her a shower and a sleep outfit to wear. Rifling through the nightclothes section of her walk-through closet (Ahsoka had definitely never seen this many clothes in her life – the closet was a _whole hallway long_ ) Padmé murmured, “Let’s see. We’re about the same size, right? I’m sure I can find something good for you.”

Ahsoka glanced through the clothes, touching the material of some of them just to see what it felt like to wear luxury all the time. Her hand rested on the sleeve of a textured black tunic, and she picked it up, suddenly realizing – “Is this Anakin’s?”

Padmé flushed red, cleared her throat, and said offhandedly, “Yeah.”

Ahsoka thought for a minute. That meant – _ew_ , _Master_ – should she – no, she shouldn’t, but –

“Were you two in love?” she blurted out. Padmé stared at her for a few seconds and then burst out laughing as if it were the funniest thing in the universe. Ahsoka rubbed her back headtail and turned away slightly. “Sorry, I guess that was a stupid question.”

“No, no, it wasn’t,” Padmé said, still giggling. “I’m sorry. And yes, we were very much in love.”

Ahsoka picked at the material of the sleeve, so familiar but at the same time, suddenly foreign. “I guess I didn’t really know him at all.”

Padmé looked at her in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

Ahsoka shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “It’s just that...I didn’t know he was a slave, I didn’t know you were married...I knew he liked you a lot more than a Jedi should but I didn’t know he was _in love_ with you....” She clapped her hand to her forehead. “And I spent all those months mad at you! I thought you didn’t care about him as much as I did and that’s why you were okay with giving him to Dooku! I’m so stupid....”

Then, Padmé took Ahsoka’s arm and led out of the walk-in closet and over to the bench at the foot of her bed. “Listen to me, Ahsoka,” Padmé said gently. “Your reaction was perfectly understandable, and I don’t blame you for it, because honestly? I blamed myself a lot more than you ever could. I fell into the trap of beating myself up over what I did.” She sighed. “Truthfully, I’m still in the trap, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get out of it. But if there’s one positive thing I’ve gotten out of these months of depression, it’s that I’m finally coming to accept that not everything wrong in my life is my fault. And it was an impossible feat, but I hope that you can accept that, too, if not now then one day.”

Ahsoka smirked and fiddled with her armband. “I’ll try.”

“I know you will,” Padmé said, running a hand down one of her lekku. “That’s why you’re such a good Jedi, and a good friend.” After a moment of comfortable silence, Padmé got back up. “Now, back to the hunt for some nightclothes....”

* * *

 

Ahsoka entered Padmé’s state of the art kitchen the next morning, stretching, and sat down with the senator and a group of her handmaidens. She didn’t recognize the dish that was already steaming on the table, but it looked and tasted absolutely delicious. When it was done, Padmé got up to have her hair and outfit done for the Senate just as Ahsoka remembered something she’d wanted to ask.

“Did your handmaidens all change their names to sound like yours or is it just a coincidence?”

Padmé grinned. “You’ll have to quit the Jedi and become a handmaiden if you want to find out.”

Ahsoka turned her head to the side. “I’m not sure I look enough like you to be a handmaiden.”

Despite themselves and all the tension surrounding the vote, they burst into giggles.

* * *

 

Three hours, an almost-nervous breakdown on Padmé’s part, and a brief period for Ahsoka in Padmé’s waiting room while the senator had important last minute meetings later, and they found themselves in the Senate chamber, waiting, and waiting, and waiting.

Finally, Palpatine and Mas Amedda stood. The Chancellor raised his arms to silence the chattering crowd of onlookers and addressed them all, saying, “We have come here today to vote on an issue that has been brought before our Senate many times. Throughout the Clone War, our Republic has seen hundreds of systems withdraw from our government and join the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Although at first our relations with this new body were nonviolent, every person in this room by now knows how much this terrible conflict has ravished our economic, social, and political lives because we are so at odds with the Separatists.

“Some in this room would argue that peace between our Republic and the Separatists cannot be achieved. Others have insisted that peace is always a foreseeable goal that can be accomplished between willing parties. The purpose of this bill is to determine whether or not, by democratic process, this Republic wishes to pursue making peace with the Confederacy. I know perhaps better than anyone the importance of a functioning democracy, and I am confident that whichever path the honorable delegates of this congress vote for will be the correct one.”

He nodded to Vice Chancellor Mas Amedda, who said, “Thank you, Chancellor. If the bill on the floor is passed today, then a special committee will be created to draft terms of negotiation that will then be proposed to the Confederacy of Independent Systems. There will be twelve seats on the committee, and the Chancellor will have full authority to choose the persons who will draft terms. Please make sure that your voting panels are active and ready.” A minute later, he continued, “And now, we shall commence the vote.”

Two options and a timer appeared on Padmé’s pod’s screen. Padmé took a deep, shaky breath and pressed _in favor_.

They waited. One minute. Two. Five. Ahsoka could feel Padmé’s tension as surely as she could feel her own. Then, with a funny look on his face, Mas Amedda whispered something into Palpatine’s ear. Palpatine nodded and stepped forward, clearing his throat.

“The results are in. The Senate has voted in favor of peace negotiations with the Confederacy of Independent Systems.”

Throughout the room, scattered cheers of excitement broke out from senators young and old. Padmé was one of them. She clapped her hands over her mouth and looked around at Ahsoka, then threw her arms around the Padawan, squealing, “We did it! We did it!” Then a second later, she pulled away, suddenly wincing and grabbing her shoulder, and suddenly Ahsoka remembered the blaster wound and felt horrible because she should have changed the dressings before now –

“Are you okay?”

“I really am,” Padmé said, breathlessly giggling. “Actually, I’m wonderful, I’m – Dormé!” she said suddenly, turning around in her seat, then getting up and pulling the handmaiden into her arms. “Dormé, we did it! Oh, gods – thank you, Shiraya, I –” She laughed, and laughed, and Ahsoka couldn’t help but feel all warm inside because she didn’t think she had ever seen or felt anyone so genuinely and purely happy as Padmé was right now.

She supposed the only thing that could have made it better was if Anakin were here....

* * *

 

Two weeks after the Senate’s vote (two weeks and two days, therefore, since she had last seen Anakin) Ahsoka found Obi-Wan pouring, yet again, over a comm table with a tired but determined and slightly ferocious look in his eyes, the same he had had yesterday, and the day before that, and the week before that. She had seen Anakin do this, too, more than once. He and Obi-Wan were a lot more alike than either of them had ever seemed to realize. She wondered if this particular behavior had originally belonged to one of them, or if they had developed it together over the years.

Honestly, she kind of couldn’t take this anymore. More accurately, she knew _he_ couldn’t take what he was doing to himself anymore. She walked down the steps into the room and up to him, careful not to startle him. “Master,” she said. “I really think you need to take a break from this. You’re kind of obsessing, and that’s not really... _you.”_

“I’m not obsessing,” he snapped, not looking at her. “I just can’t afford to miss anything. If I locate him then I’ll have a very short time to trace him before they take him away again.”

Ahsoka leaned over the table to force herself into his sight. “Well, you need to sleep.”

He huffed. “I can sleep in hyperspace.”

She raised her brows. “That’s definitely obsessive behavior, Master. Come on, you can come back tomorrow morning. Anakin will still be out there when you wake up.” Of course, neither of them knew if that would be true – what if some other Jedi, one who didn’t recognize him or didn’t have sympathy for a brainwashed Sith assassin, found him first? What if he wasn’t actually out there at all? What if he had changed his mind, and no longer _wanted_ to be found? – but she figured maybe if she vocalized the reassurance, it would have a higher likelihood of coming true.

Obi-Wan just shook his head. “Maybe in an hour.”

Ahsoka sighed, and resigned to join him in his search. In an hour, she decided, if he didn’t comply, she would throw him over her shoulder like a child having a fit and carry him back to his room if she had to.

Really, she would do it. She meant it. Don’t test her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me! I'm so grateful knowing that there are people who love this fic as much as I do out there! Next chapter will be up around or before March 19th. I hope to see you then! ;-*


	16. Anamnesis

There was a room in Tyranus’s palace on Serenno that called to Vader.

From the outside, it appeared to be a completely innocent room. The door was unmarked, windowless, with the same keypad that every other room in this corridor had on the wall beside it. And he was certain that the room itself wasn’t what was calling to him, but rather something inside. Something that the Force desperately wanted him to find. It was too risky, he knew. When he passed by it with his little personal escort, he made sure not to even glance at it. Because if someone turned around at the wrong time, or if someone was watching him too closely, they would know, they would tell Sidious, and bad things would happen to him.

Since he had returned from the planet that he barely remembered, everything was different. Every _day_ was different. There were days where he felt like a Sith, where the need for revenge boiled in his blood, where killing came easy and the blood on his hands made him feel like this was his _purpose_. Days where he thought that of course Sidious was right, this was all he was good for, doing the Sith’s work to purge the galaxy of Jedi filth until not a single one was left standing. And he thought, deep in his core, that this was what he was going to do until he died.

Then there were the other days, the days when he thought, why? Why should he have anything at all against the Jedi? They’d never, as far as he knew, done anything to him. _They_ weren’t the ones who brought him in and subdued him, tamed him like an animal captured from the wild, stripped him of everything he had ever had. Those were the days when he didn’t feel like Vader, or a Sith, at all. Those were the days when he felt like Anakin. Anakin, the name that had belonged to him a lifetime ago, the name that belonged to hazy, foggy, unsubstantial memories that resurfaced at the worst moments.

And as time went on, day by crawling day, the balance was shifting. The Vader days came less, the Anakin days more.

Today was an Anakin day.

In the preparation room (it’s unofficial name in Anakin’s head, anyway) they geared him up, refitted him with his lightsaber, his field gear, the heavy, suffocating durable synth-leather jacket. He barely listened as they briefed him on the mission – another battlefield, another Jedi for him to kill, another long day full of death and destruction. Then, when they were done, they moved him out, down a corridor and then another, and soon they were approaching that door that seemed to be targeting him specifically as if it was a sentient entity looking for prey....

His heart picked up its pace. He could – no, he shouldn’t. But, neither Sidious nor Dooku were here, true that they concealed themselves from the Force but even with their power they couldn’t prevent the blanket of stifling darkness that covered the area when they were around...and, this might be his only chance....

“Wait,” he said suddenly, putting a strong push of the Force behind his words, not letting his voice show his nervousness. Like a charm, the company of four halted at his command like droids on the battlefield and looked at him, waiting for orders. With a slight wave of his hand at waist-level, Anakin continued, “I need to get in this room.”

“You need to get in this room,” one of them repeated as if in a trance, snapping to attention and crossing three paces to the keypad. For a second, Anakin was sure everything would go wrong, an alarm would sound and he’d be forced to the ground and back into the chair, back into a waking nightmare, Sidious would come back and Anakin would never have a chance to be _Anakin_ again. Instead, the entered authorization code worked immediately and the door slid open.

Anakin took a deep breath. “Wait here,” he said, and entered the room with the door sliding shut behind him. The lights on the ceiling were off, but monitors on the left wall blinked at him. As if in a dream, he let the Force pull him over to a drawer he could barely see. His metal hand came to a rest on the handle. So many things could go wrong, a dozen security alarms could go off and send this place on shutdown, it could be locked, there could be nothing in there at all, this could be some elaborate set-up, a trick with the hopeful conclusion of giving Sidious a reason to finally do away with his tool –

The drawer opened with the lightest of tugs, and a soft blue light filled the room. There was just one thing, sitting on a small cushion in the middle of the drawer. Crystalline, small in the palm of his human hand, but warm like it had always belonged there. For too long, he stared at it, then broke out of his trance and looked around. Something, possibly the Force or maybe something else, told him that if he scoured every inch of this room, he would uncover more secrets that were hidden only from him. But time was running out, he’d spent too long in here already, so with a regretful glance behind him he pocketed the crystal and went back into the corridor.

“To the hangar,” he said with one last push of the Force, and the same man who’d let him in the room nodded once and started them off.

He would have to do something about this crystal, he knew. It would be fine for now, but once he got back to Serenno after this mission and however many others, they would find it when they looked him over and hand it over to Sidious. Deep in his gut, he knew...something had to be done....

* * *

 

This was a Vader day.

Another day, another battlefield, another dead Jedi on the ground. This was the third, Vader thought anyway, since the hazy gap in his memory and the time he’d spent being shocked again (it was cold, there were three people who knew him, but what had happened to them and where were they now? that part he couldn’t quite remember). And now he was waiting, waiting, for whatever would happen next, sitting on the ground against a thick tree trunk while the droids and humans lingered around him at a distance. The ship that had been sent to pick them up was late. At least, that was what Vader gathered from the irritated-sounding conversation between his handlers and the Confederate commander.

“Think the Republic might have gotten to them first?”

“Not likely. Someone’s slacking off, that’s what I think, and I’ll bet you anything it’s Wilkes.”

“Wilkes was transferred to Ordonna a week ago, told me so himself, so it can’t be him.”

“Oh yeah? Well, good riddance. What’s he doing over there?”

“I think Dooku put him in command of some big droid factory or shipyard or something. Runs off slave labor. Really efficient, except for the riots. I think that’s why they needed better commanders, to shut down the riots. Damn slaves can’t just put up with the life they’ve been given.”

_it was hot and dry as ever, and there were at least thirty different species in this one room, bodies seemed to be pressing in on each other but maybe that was just because he was so small, everyone was still talking about the race yesterday but he couldn’t seem to think about anything other than the aching wounds across his back, his punishment for_

The same commander was saying, “I mean, it doesn’t make sense to me. Yeah, we took their planet, but in return we gave them work and food and a place to sleep, none of which any of them had before. Why would they rather be dirt poor with nothing to eat than given a job and food for free? I just don’t get it.”

“Works pretty well for this one, eh?” A laugh.

“Right? The perfect example. Barely resists, does whatever he’s told. Hell, you can beat him up all you want and he’ll still do whatever you say. I bet Lord Sidious wishes all his slaves were that easy to manage.”

Vader’s eyes shot open, and he looked at the men who were talking with a frown. Sidious’s...slave?

An image flashed so clearly in his mind he could almost see it, looks of disgust sent his way, as if he were some vile creature that crawled out of the sand one day and made its nest in their garbage pile. The distant memory of shouting, directed towards him, flashes of pain. Sunlight burning his skin. That word, over and over and over, slave slave slave slave – why did it sound so familiar, what did it _remind_ him of –

“Rendezvous was supposed to be ten minutes ago,” one of them said, glancing at a chrono. “If it’s not Wilkes, who is it?”

“Why are you complaining to me instead of contacting the cruiser?”

_pain across his back, the smell of blood, a woman was crying and his back hurt so so so much, would this pain ever go away_

“ _Vengeance_ come in, this is landing party. The shuttle is late for rendezvous, what is your status?” The words through the commlink sounded muffled from this far away. The commander gave an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know who I’m speaking with, but you and everyone else aboard that cruiser should know that regulations prevent me from verbally giving our coordinates in case any Republic scouts are monitoring our communications. Activate Vader’s tracking signal –”

_all slaves have transmitters placed inside their bodies somewhere_

“—which you should have been doing in the _first_ place. Adema out.”

“Damn. Even Wilkes was more competent than whoever’s up there.”

“Whole Confederacy’s gonna fall to pieces if people like them are in command.”

_all slaves have_

“Well, here’s to that not happening.”

They fell silent, and the recollections of voices in Vader’s head stopped. The shroud of twilight was beginning to fall on the forest floor. The stolen crystal sat heavy in the pocket of Vader’s clothes. If they went back now, they would find it, and take it, and tell Sidious. If they went back now, he would be punished, pain and pain and pain, the third strike of his failing Sidious. If they went back, he would be a slave for the rest of his life. _If_ they went back....

It was a choice. It was so simple. So easy. Two choices – go back to Serenno, or....

He would never have a better chance than right now.

He just had to take it.

_you’re a slave?_

_i’m a person, and my name is_

Vader’s gloved human fingers ghosted over the fold in his clothes where the crystal was. His eyes fluttered shut for just a moment. Slowly, very slowly, he inched forward bit by bit, and looked around, taking count. Probably twenty droids, plus the ones he couldn’t see, and four living. It would be quick, and easy. Twenty clones would have been harder, but these were the cheapest droids Tyranus’s money could have bought. And he was – damn, he was the best.

“Uh, hey. What’s wrong with him?”

“Don’t know. I’ll check him out, you stay here.”

The, uh, _handler_ , was crossing twenty paces and knelt down before Vader, who stayed tense. It would be too suspicious to relax. The man said, “Do you sense something? Republic activity? Or is it the evac shuttle?”

Sometimes, non-Force-sensitives astounded him. He wasn’t a droid with life sign scanners, he couldn’t do a thorough sweep of the area using his sensors. He could, however, use the Force for other purposes....

His metal fingers curled around the air, and the Force was there at his command. The Confederate man’s hand rose to his throat, his mouth gaped for air like a fish, his eyes were wide with panic. Vader leaned in and said in a low voice, “I am not his slave.” A moment later, the man was dead on the ground. Another few moments, and Vader was surrounded by droids with their blasters pointed at him.

“Freeze!” one of them said in its tinny, nasally voice.

He’d felt frozen before, and it hadn’t really done it for him. Last time, he’d been recaptured by the forces of the man who had brainwashed him and taken away every single thing he had ever had and _enslaved_ him. This time, Vader decided, that would not happen again.

Against the deep blue hue of the evening, the red lightsaber ignited.

* * *

 

Honestly, he couldn’t entirely believe it. It was like Sidious had _wanted_ him to escape. Arming a rendezvous shuttle with a hyperdrive? Sidious called Vader the stupid one, but that didn’t really appear to be the case anymore, did it?

And now he was flying. _Flying._ He’d flown before in his memory, but it had only ever been to a battle, to hunt down a Jedi, to do someone else’s dirty work for them. Now, he was flying on his own terms, and he _loved_ it.

Out of the atmosphere and into space, he saw it: the dark grey exterior of a Confederate navy cruiser. And they didn’t know – Vader could have started laughing – they _didn’t know_. It was so easy, he was going to get out of here before they had even figured out what had happened – no time to initiate a tractor beam, or even to shoot him down –

The comm activated, and he heard a droid’s voice say, _“Shuttle 792-B, we are preparing docking bay three for your arrival, acknowledge.”_ Vader felt his mouth twist into something that wasn’t quite a smile. Yeah, Sidious. Acknowledge _this._

He pulled the lever, and five seconds later he was in hyperspace.

* * *

 

He hadn’t really planned where he was going. Truthfully, he had just picked the first planet he had thought of – Vanqor – when going into space, more of a barren detour of a planet to stop at than a place to put down anchor. He would need to check the ship for a homing beacon, of course, so he would need to land for a little while, but as he pulled out of hyperspace he was sure that he would have plenty of time to –

_Scratch that._ There, hovering outside the Vanqor atmosphere, three Confederate cruisers with their noses pointed right at him, as if they were waiting for him. As if –

_They were waiting for him_ –

Without hesitating, Vader grabbed at the steering yokes and wrenched them around as three dozen smaller droid ships hurtled toward him, releasing a barrage of cannon blasts at him. He raised the shields and swerved, Force instincts lighting up with _left up down speed up right slow down dive_ but this ship wasn’t meant for combat, this was a shuttle, not a fighter, not nearly as speedy as the robotic droid ships and not half as maneuverable. But that couldn’t stop him now, because he had to get the _hell_ out of this system before the cruisers got close enough to lock him in a tractor beam –

He reached his shaking hand down to the console, trying to think of a planet, a neutral planet where there would be no Separatist presence to abduct him and no Republic fleet to shoot him down. Neutral planets, neutral planets – Toydaria was neutral, he thought – fine. He typed it in with one hand and steered with the other, maneuvering around vulture droids and droid fighters, obviously Sidious would rather have him dead than escaped, but that wasn’t a problem because he was a better pilot than any droid, not to mention he had the _Force_ –

A laser blast hit him and the ship buckled, the systems flickered but the shields held up, finally a noise told him the calculations for hyperspace were completed and without looking he grabbed the lever, pulled it back –

And collapsed back in his seat to stare numbly at the swirling blue vortex.

How – how the hell, how – how?

Easy enough, they were either tracking the ship for sure or they had calculated his trajectory out of the planet from which he had stolen the shuttle. But if that how was solved, the more urgent how was how the _hell_ was he supposed to get away if they countermanded every move be made before he even had a chance to make it?

Okay, so Sidious wasn’t as foolish as he’d hoped.

Well, this time he would be ready. They would not recapture him. Not if he could help it.

* * *

 

Toydaria went the same way, only this time, he almost didn’t make it.

* * *

 

Collapsed back in the pilot’s chair, Vader was so _tired_ , but he had to be on guard. The chronometer said he had another ten minutes before he came out of hyperspace to face yet another fleet of ships trying to kill or kidnap him so, just for now, he allowed his eyes to close and his joints slacken, letting his mind drift away in whatever direction it chose...his limbs were all so heavy, he wanted to sink right through this chair into the ground...he’d been awake for so many hours he wasn’t sure how many more he could make it if he had to keep doing this over and over and over...his eyelids were so heavy now he didn’t think he could open them if he wanted to....

_outside, sandy wind whipped across the desert settlement, battering the sturdy buildings that littered the spaceport. Later, he would have to sweep dirt from one side of the junkyard to the other, cleaning off scraps of machinery ‘til his nails were caked with sand and his fingers were bleeding. But for now, he was safe at home, and so was she, swabbing the scrape he’d gotten earlier with just a teeny, tiny bit of water because they didn’t have much. The sound of the wind outside made him thirsty, but he had already had some water today and they needed to save some for tomorrow. In fact, he was pretty sure the threat of dehydration was the only thing that kept him from crying sometimes, even when he thought about Amee’s mom bleeding onto the sand because she did something that her master wasn’t happy with, or the possibility that one day, he and_ his _mom might be sold to separate masters and would never see each other again...._

Anakin’s eyes shot open and he gasped, jerked awake by the memory. By the _memory._ Of –

Mom –

Oh, Mom....

She was kind. Patient, selfless. Brown hair, he thought, and brown eyes. Though the sight of her face and the sound of her voice where nowhere to be recalled, he knew beyond a doubt that she was the most beautiful woman in the galaxy, the most loving, he clasped his metal hand over his mouth to stifle the cry of pain that no one was going to hear anyway, he could almost feel her arms around him if imagined hard enough, squeezing his eyes shut until the tears dripped off his face. Her name was Shmi. There was a desert, hot and dry and merciless to those who knew not how to handle it. Hundreds of different species of rough, cursing people who didn’t want to be noticed. And then there were slaves. Like her. And like him.

He didn’t understand. This didn’t line up with any version of events that he had been told, not by the Jedi and not by the Sith. How does a slave from the desert become a Jedi? But, somehow, he knew they hadn’t been lying to him. At least not about that.

The hyperdrive beacon started beeping and he pushed the lever back, then wiped at his eyes. A second later, before he’d even gotten a chance to look out the viewport, something outside collided with the side of the shuttle and he nearly fell out of his seat.

Ugh – he made a noise of frustration and grabbed the steering yokes, wrenching the ship into a backbreaking dive and swerving around the vultures. More than being dangerous and terrifying, this was just getting _annoying._ Quickly, he switched the hyperdrive navigator to the preplanned coordinates and was hurtling faster than light within a few seconds.

Vader kicked at the console panel. Why couldn’t they just leave him _alone?_

But now, he knew. He knew what Sidious must have thought. Once a slave, always a slave, right, Master?

Well, Vader – no. _Anakin_. Anakin, the name his mother gave him. Well, Anakin had something to say about Sidious’s excuse for _enslaving_ him.

Angry, feeling heat rising into his face, he leaned back in the pilot’s seat and put his hand on his chin, thinking back to the planet where he’d stolen the shuttle. He wondered if those _handlers_ knew that he’d been a slave before. He supposed it didn’t really matter, since he had _killed_ them like they deserved.

Then, he remembered something else about that planet. The voices he had been thinking of, talking about slavery – had that been his mom, or a fabrication of her? What had she said...something about...slave transmitters...

_placed inside their bodies somewhere_

_activate Vader’s tracking signal_

He gasped, and jumped up from his seat, running through the door and back to the basic medical station. Ran his fingers over touchscreen keys and activated a bioscan. He sat down, almost seemed to feel the non-corporeal light that moved over his body, and watched the screen. And there it was. Small, inconspicuous, so much so that without the scan he would never have needed to know it was there. He pulled up the hem of his jacket and saw the thin white surgical scar, just a mark maybe two centimeters long, blending in with the array of bruises and burns and marred flesh that marked the rest of his body.

Anakin’s metal hand clenched as he rifled through compartments, looking for surgical tools, because even if the Sith hadn’t been using this thing to track his whereabouts it was still placed inside his body without his permission and that idea disgusted him to his core...his hand curled around the silver metal of a knife’s handle and he pulled it out, sitting back down and taking deep breaths, waiting for his hand to steady.

With thirty-four minutes left in hyperspace, he cut into his skin.

* * *

 

It was a tiny thing, really. About one square centimeter, thin and insignificant in appearance. He cleaned the blood off of it and then smashed it in his gloved metal palm. With a sharp stinging in his side whenever he moved, he chucked it in an escape pod and when he emerged from hyperspace again for just a minute, he sent it back to the Confederates.

* * *

 

Anakin was probably going to have a seizure sometime soon.

It wasn’t that they were predictable, or that he got any particular feeling to warn him that one was about to happen. Rather, he’d overheard enough about his own seizures from the doctors on Serenno to be able to figure it out intuitively. Without the meds, they had said, he would have withdrawal, and that withdrawal could trigger a seizure. It was what had happened last time, on that cold, cold planet that was so fuzzy in his memory, and even in turning the stolen ship’s interior inside out he hadn’t been able to find extra medicinal hyposprays or even just a name of the medicine and a dosage. He had a feeling there was no time to search the ship’s computers, so when he came out of hyperspace after two more precautious jumps to throw the Confederacy off his trail, he piloted the ship towards a planet that the scanners called Riileb.

It was an ocean planet, dotted with mostly deserted islands covered in white sandy beaches and thin tree cover. If the databanks were right, the island he landed on was unpopulated, so he opened the exit ramp and went outside to make sure with finality that the shuttle itself hadn’t been tracked. When he was satisfied, Anakin went back inside, pried off the panel to the ship’s comm unit, grabbed a tool box and set to work with one goal in mind.

Cross those wires...fiddle with the console...override the signals that blocked Confederate transmissions from being received by Republic communication control...scramble the code...almost there....

What he was doing was crazy. He knew it was. It could get him killed. Actually, it probably would. It could end up in a dozen Jedi coming here and killing him as mercilessly as he had killed so many of them. It could end in him dying before he ever even had a chance to get to know those three shadowy figures that lingered on the edge of his memory, telling him that they were his friends and that they wanted to bring him home. If he did what he was doing, he might never be able to know exactly what he was to them.

But if he _didn’t_ do it...well, then he would _definitely_ never know.

And he was done. A scrambled, coded transmission sent to the heart of the Republic itself. It was just a shot in the dark, a gamble, a small chance that he might be able to salvage something of the life that the Sith had taken away from him. It was the only way he might ever be able to see his mother again, to be held by her and talk to her and get to know her. It was – was....

* * *

 

Heat. That was the first thing he felt. The sound of waves, that was the first thing he heard. Beneath him, the floor was hard and cold and very uncomfortable. In his mouth, he could taste blood, and something else, something metallic. His eyelids were too heavy, and he didn’t know where he was. What his name was. What he was doing here.

Finally, he opened his eyes. Everything felt strange, like he was detached from his own body, in it but not in control of it. His head hurt, though not terribly bad, and his muscles were all sore. He was hungry, and thirsty, and the sunlight coming from outside was bright. His right side ached like he had been stabbed.

A name finally came to him – Anakin, that was him. And Vader, that was him too. He didn’t know which one was more true, but he liked Anakin more so he decided he would go with that.

He was so tired. He lay there on the floor, trying to keep his eyes open because there was something – _something_ important he was supposed to be doing, and if he fell asleep now he wouldn’t be able to do it. He couldn’t remember what _it_ was, but he thought that if he could just manage to stay awake then everything would become clear.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he found the energy to sit up, then stand up, then walk dizzily over to the sink in the back and pour some water. There, he held the cup in his hand, looked blearily around the place he was in – a ship, right, a shuttle – the sunlight was coming from the exit ramp, and so was the sound of waves....

Anakin stumbled over there and all but collapsed on the exit ramp, wishing beyond anything else that he could fall asleep instead of waiting – waiting, for...for what? Huh....

His eyes fell shut. He felt the Force around him, a comfort in this empty, mean-hearted universe...smelled the saltiness of the ocean as it lapped against the shore...heard the sound of birds, somewhere...he rested his head on his metal hand, stay awake, stay awake....

He thought about his mother. Her brown hair, her smile, her hugs. Tried to remember what her face looked like, or where their home was. Somewhere with lots of sand, though not like the sand of this planet, which was white and sparkled in the summer sun....

_What was that?_ He thought he felt something with the Force, or maybe heard something with his ears. Was something going to attack him? He wrenched his eyes open, blinked in the light, saw a blurry figure standing some five meters away. Anakin looked at it, tried to figure out who or what exactly who it was that – oh. Yes. He remembered.

It was Obi-Wan Kenobi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, cliffhangers are the worst. But fear not, I'm planning on putting Chapter 17 up in about a week. Hope to see ya then!
> 
> Also, fam, thank you sooo much for 400 kudos and for the amazing and very kind comments on last chapter! They seriously made me so happy, I read them during the break of my three hour Monday class and I was like beaming for the rest of the day. I am grateful to all of you!!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧


	17. Old Friends

_Obi-Wan Kenobi_

_Riileb_

_13°47’S 98°26’W_

_Help me_

That was what the message had said. On Coruscant, they had all thought it would be a trap. Truthfully, even Obi-Wan hadn’t been sure it wasn’t a trap. But now, staring into Anakin’s empty, forlorn expression, he was quite sure the message was the real thing.

If Obi-Wan had been someone with much less restraint than a practiced Jedi Master of thirty-eight years, he may have been sorely tempted to break into a run, pull Anakin into his arms, and hold him there until he could be absolutely, completely, no-doubt-in-the-galaxy certain that Anakin was really here, in the flesh, alive. Indeed, if Anakin hadn’t eventually looked up and noticed his presence, Obi-Wan may have been content to stand here and stare at him forever.

His friend looked nothing like he had the last two times they had met. He wasn’t yellow-eyed and feral, like the first, or frightened and in pain, like the second. Rather, he didn’t look to be feeling much at all. His eyes had a heavy sadness and he didn’t appear to be entirely aware of his surroundings. He was slumped on the exit ramp of his Separatist shuttle, his elbow leaning on the floor of the ship and his head resting on his hand. He stared at Obi-Wan with his mouth slightly agape and said nothing.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “I got your message,” he said unnecessarily, to silence. He frowned. “You _did_ send that message, didn’t you?”

Anakin’s face maintained a steady blankness. His eyelids blinked repeatedly. At first, Obi-Wan was sure the question had not been heard. Then, Anakin said, “Uh huh.”

All right, well that was an acknowledgement, at least. “Is it all right if I sit down?”

After a long pause, Anakin said, “Okay.”

He approached, and cautiously walked up the exit ramp to sit, half a meter’s space in between them. Obi-Wan could have touched him. Up close, Anakin looked so pale. His hair was thin and unkempt, his shoulders slumped like something was weighing him down. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say, so he tried, “Are you all right?”

He already knew the answer, plain as day. His friend looked more exhausted than Obi-Wan had ever seen him, and with all the missions they had been through over the years, that was saying something. Anakin’s metal hand, which had been supporting his head, fell limp as he looked around. He shook his head unsteadily.

Obi-Wan leaned in. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Anakin rubbed his eyes, looking concentrated. His words were slurred. “Seizure.”

_What?_ A seizure? When had – what – “Do you get seizures often?”

Slowly, Anakin nodded. “Um...,” he frowned. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” Obi-Wan hushed. “Don’t be sorry. Do you need anything?”

His friend blinked, and rubbed his eyes again. “Just need to...put my head down...for a minute,” Anakin murmured, and he curled in on himself, resting his head on his arm. He shifted, trying to be comfortable on the cold metal surface. Then, a minute later, he was asleep.

Obi-Wan sat back, astonished. If he had expected anything, coming here – and he hadn’t, particularly – it certainly wasn’t this. Faintly, he remembered the image on the blue-tinted holoscreen that day, Anakin dead on the ground while Dooku stood over him. Dead in Obi-Wan’s nightmares, a thousand different ways. Those memories were so real he could almost touch them. Touch them....

Carefully, slowly, Obi-Wan reached over and pressed his fingers lightly to the pulse in Anakin’s neck. Steady, regular, normal. Obi-Wan bit back a swell of emotion and pulled his hand away.

One year ago, Anakin had been dead. Now, he was alive. Limp, pale, fragile, beaten and damaged and passed out cold on the exit ramp of a Separatist shuttle but _so, so alive._

Four hours passed before Anakin woke up. Clouds passed in front of the sun, then away again, and the horizon began to turn faintly pink. Obi-Wan spent the time meditating, watching the ocean, watching his friend. Finally, Anakin shifted, stretched, rubbed his eyes once more – then whirled his head around at Obi-Wan as if seeing him for the first time.

“How long have you been here?”

“Not too long,” Obi-Wan assured him. “All that happened was you told me that you’d had a seizure, and then you fell asleep.”

“Oh,” Anakin said blearily, pushing himself into an upright position. “That happens sometimes....” He looked around, frowning. “Are you alone?”

“It’s just you and me.”

Anakin looked surprised. “Oh. You, um...you were there, right? On that cold planet?”

“You mean Sharlissia? Yes, that was me. And two of your other friends.”

“Right,” Anakin said slowly, looking in the air as if searching for something. “Well, you – or, maybe it wasn’t you, but someone, you said...well, why I called you here, I need, um....” He could barely look Obi-Wan in the eye. “I’m not used to talking this much.”

Well, if that didn’t feel like a blow directly to Obi-Wan’s chest. “That’s all right, take your time. There’s no rush.”

Anakin took a deep, trembling breath. He was shaking horribly. “I don’t remember the word, um...like, when you’re on one side, and the people on your side are out to get you, and you want to go to the other side but you need help getting there, and, um....” He grimaced.

Obi-Wan put his hand to his beard. “Asylum?” he suggested. With fondness, Obi-Wan noticed Anakin’s nose scrunch up the way it always did when he was confused. He elaborated, “As in, political asylum. Seeking refuge from those who wish to hurt you. A safe haven.”

Anakin nodded, looking relieved. “Yeah, that.”

“Well, I think we could give you that,” he said. “The Jedi, I mean. I’ll have to talk to them, first, but I’m confident they would agree to take you in.”

Anakin looked at the ground. “Even after I....”

“Yes, I think so,” Obi-Wan said, though to himself he had to admit he wasn’t so sure, which was precisely the reason he would be establishing a holoconference with the Council once he had returned to his own shuttle. He was certainly not intending on bringing Anakin back if it meant trying him as a criminal. Pointedly, he remembered Barriss Offee, and how she had been given to the Republic military without even talk of a trial. Well, he decided, if they planned on doing anything of the sort with Anakin, they would have to go through him.

Anakin was fiddling with his glove, looking down. His whole face was concentrated in a frown, and his eyes were frightened. “I didn’t want to kill anyone....”

“It’s all right,” Obi-Wan said softly. “You don’t have to convince me. I believe you.”

His friend blinked up at him. “Why?”

“Because you asked me for help,” Obi-Wan said simply. “And because I have known you for a very long time.”

Anakin looked at him curiously. “How long?”

“Since you were nine years old.”

“How old am I now?”

Obi-Wan repressed a shiver, and tried to force a comforting smile. “Twenty-two.”

Anakin looked heartened, though somehow crestfallen at the same time. “You really mean it. You really want to help me?”

“Very much so,” Obi-Wan said sincerely. “You and I have been through a very great deal together, and it hurts me to see you like this. I want to make sure that you have the ability to make your own choices from now on.”

Anakin bit his lip. “I just want to be away from the Sith.”

“Well, there is no better place for that than the Jedi Temple on Coruscant,” Obi-Wan said. “I don’t think there is anywhere safer that you could go. If you would like, we can go back to my ship and contact the Jedi Council....” He left out the addendum, _to make sure they wont try you as a Sith agent._

Slowly, Anakin frowned. He looked at Obi-Wan, out at the ocean, at his hands. Then, he nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.” With one final look around the Separatist shuttle, Anakin followed him down the ramp, closed the ship, and they set off.

“I landed a little ways away – just, you know, in case your message had been a trap,” Obi-Wan explained, feeling his face flush and suddenly regretting having said that. Anakin didn’t say anything.

It was a long walk, even with a shortcut through the thin array of tropical trees and jungle-like plant life, though admittedly a nice one. If fate had taken a different turn, it was the sort of walk that Obi-Wan and his old Padawan might have taken when they had time to kill on a world they had never been to before, admiring the diversity of life in their expansive, complicated galaxy. To be sure, the remoteness was a refreshing change from the overwhelming war atmosphere he was used to, the greenery much preferable to the silver city walls of Coruscant.

Obi-Wan was just beginning to think about showing Anakin the temple gardens when Anakin stopped abruptly in his tracks and said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Well, there is only one thing – one person, actually, that I remember from...before all this,” he stammered, suddenly looking nervous. “Um...did you know my mother?”

Obi-Wan felt his mouth fall slightly agape. Anakin remembered his _mother?_ That was tremendous, what a wonderful – he cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I never met her, but you have told me about her in the past.”

Anakin kicked at the ground. “Would – would, uh...would you know where to find her?”

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh, no, Anakin. Oh, oh oh oh.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said slowly, turning to face him more fully. The look on his face must have given it away. This – oh, no. “Anakin, your mother...she died. Almost three years ago.”

At first, Anakin just stared at him. Then his eyebrows drew together, his whole face twisted in confusion. “No,” he whispered, as if the word could bring his mother back. His eyes, so blue again, looked betrayed. “But, that – no, but she’s – the only thing that I....”

It felt like Obi-Wan was following down a bottomless hole. His heart was in his stomach. All he could bring himself to say was, “I’m so sorry....”

Anakin laced his human hand through his hair. He pressed his metal fist to his lips, then to his hip, looking around like he was lost. He walked a few paces away, then back, then away again, and then he lowered himself to the ground and stared at the dirt.

Obi-Wan didn’t move. He couldn’t, really. A deep, terrible sadness pressed against his chest like a weight. He had never, never even considered that he would have to have this conversation, so soon, here, in the middle of nowhere on their way back home, before he had convinced Anakin that he was trustworthy and that the Jedi could help him and that everything was going to be all right....

He watched as Anakin slowly, gingerly lowered himself to the ground and curled in on himself, eyes squeezing shut, silent. Ten meters away, Obi-Wan sat down in the meditative position and tried ease his mind off the terrible howl of agony that was lighting up the Force like fireworks. It was no use. No matter how much it hurt, he couldn’t bring himself to focus on anything other than the familiar sense of his friend in the Force for the second time in months and months and months.

After a time, the hitched breaths of his old Padawan slowed. From here, Obi-Wan could see the steady rise and fall of his chest, the deadened, emotionless, vacant stare in his eyes as he looked blankly up at the sky, body slackened as if he wanted to lay in that spot forever and never move an inch. After a longer time still, Obi-Wan got up, crossed the few paces in between them, and said, gently he hoped, “Do you want to go now?”

He wasn’t sure if Anakin would answer, or if he even could. Then, Anakin said, “Okay.” Obi-Wan reached out a hand to help him up; Anakin pushed himself to his feet on his own.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. When the Jedi shuttle came into view, Anakin stared up at it with little interest then followed Obi-Wan inside. They went through the main compartment to the back room, where Obi-Wan, partly out of habit, heated up some water for tea. Anakin hovered around until he was done.

He gestured to the pair of chairs bolted to the floor. “Sit, please.” Anakin did, wincing, so far the only change in expression since his unwelcome revelation. Obi-Wan frowned. “Are you hurt somewhere?”

His friend looked as if he didn’t understand the question. “Oh,” he said blankly. “No, I just – s’nothing....”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from years of knowing you,” Obi-Wan said, “It’s that ‘nothing’ is always something.”

Slowly, Anakin rested his human palm against a spot on his right side. When he spoke, it sounded like every word cost him a great effort. “The droids kept...finding me, and...I didn’t know what else to do....”

Suddenly, Obi-Wan felt very sick. “Did you...have something implanted in you?” Anakin’s nod confirmed his suspicions, the one Obi-Wan had had since the Separatists had recaptured Anakin on Sharlissia. “And you cut it out yourself?” Anakin nodded again. Obi-Wan crossed the small room, put two cups of tea on the table, and sat next to him. “Can I see the wound?” With a shrug, Anakin’s metal fingers curled around the hem of his thick synth-leather jacket and raised it a few inches above his waist. Obi-Wan let out a breath. The wound certainly wasn’t the worst he had seen, but if he didn’t take care of it now it would soon get infected.

He asked, lightly, “Do you mind if I clean it up for you?” Anakin shrugged again. When Obi-Wan turned his back to get the medkit, he allowed himself a frown. Apathy was not one of Anakin’s most frequently expressed emotions. The man was passionate on all accounts, and to see otherwise always unnerved him.

Obi-Wan wet a cloth and dabbed at the inflamed skin. It should have been painful, if only slightly, but Anakin didn’t react. His eyes were distant, glossy, his expression sunken. Obi-Wan swabbed the wound with a disinfectant and pressed a bacta patch to the skin before closing the medkit and sitting up. “There we are. Is that better?” Anakin didn’t respond.

They sat in silence. Obi-Wan sipped his tea. Anakin sat, mostly unresponsive. Eventually, without moving, he said, “How did it happen?”

Obi-Wan didn’t have to ask what he was talking about. He set his cup down. “A little like you, actually, she was kidnapped and tortured,” he said, his throat suddenly dry and shaky. “By Tusken Raiders on Tatooine. Your home planet,” he added. Anakin squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his head back against the wall.

“Why did this happen to me?” he whispered. A pause, and he opened his eyes and looked straight at Obi-Wan, desperation pleading in his eyes.

Obi-Wan told him. About the Gungans, Naboo, Grievous. Padmé’s decision, and it’s aftermath. The only thing he left out was how much it had hurt. The weary look in Anakin’s eyes betrayed his youth. Once again, despite all unspoken Jedi platitudes on physical affection and its implications of attachment, Obi-Wan wanted nothing else but to pull Anakin close to him and never let go.

When the explanation was done, Anakin swallowed heavily and squeezed his eyes shut. He took a big, gasping breath to keep from crying outright. He whispered, “But why me?”

Obi-Wan leaned in. “Listen,” he said softly, “I know it hurts, and I’m not going to pretend to know how you feel, but you have friends who want to be here for you no matter what the Sith put you through. I am going to stay with you through this for as long as you want me to. I promise.”

Anakin wiped a tear off his cheek, then another, and Obi-Wan asked with finality, “Will you come home with me?” Anakin nodded, silent except for his gasping breaths.

* * *

 

When Obi-Wan had gotten up to speak to the Council on Anakin’s behalf, he had hoped that a talk with them would have gone easier than this. Instead, he found himself sitting stubbornly, trying to reach the senses of two wise Jedi Masters. “We need him to _trust_ us.”

The holographic Windu looked at him with disapproval. “As much as you want to, Obi-Wan, we cannot trust _him_. He has been trained as a Sith. We do not know what his true intentions are.”

“I’ve _told_ you, he wants help. He wants to be somewhere that the Sith can’t control him. I’ve studied him closely. There is no deception in him.”

“Seeing only what you want to see, you are, Obi-Wan,” Yoda said. “If bring him here you do, under guard he must be placed. Afford him the benefit of the doubt, we cannot.”

“He doesn’t need to be imprisoned,” Obi-Wan said sharply. “He needs to be given as close to a regular life as possible. He needs normalcy. He would never agree to what you’re suggesting.”

Windu said, “Then you must convince him another way.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not going to lie to him.”

“It’s the only way, Obi-Wan. Now is _not_ the time for you to let your attachment to who Skywalker was a year ago get the better of you.”

“Master, I am _not_ going to lie to him.”

“Then you are jeopardizing the galaxy as a whole by suggesting we allow a Sith to roam free,” Windu said, stern.

“This is not a Sith we are talking about!” Obi-Wan all but snapped, losing his patience. He took a calming breath and berated himself. Yoda and Windu were only looking out for the Republic and doing their duty as Jedi. They were wise and had been serving for much longer than he had. They couldn’t know the emotional baggage that Anakin was carrying around with him. Still, a part of him felt like they were still taking part in their age-old resistance to Anakin’s existence as a whole. He tried again. “This is Anakin, who was kidnapped and brainwashed and forced to do what the Sith told him to do. He never wanted this to happen, and now he’s looking for help, and we are the only ones who can give him what he needs.”

Yoda’s long ears rose and fell with his breathing. “Attached to Skywalker, you are. Blinded you to all possibilities, your attachment has. Perhaps right you are, Obi-Wan, but perhaps right you are not. The nature of the dark side, deception it is.”

“And in your current state, it doesn’t appear deceiving you would be very difficult,” Windu said.

Obi-Wan held his ground. “He’s not. I am absolutely certain. Besides, no one is foolish enough to try to kill Jedi from within the temple itself. Anyone would know that that’s a death wish.”

Windu said, “The Sith are not rational.”

“He is not,” Obi-Wan said, a little too coldly, “A Sith. He is a frightened man who needs help from people who care about him. _I_ care about him, even if I am not _allowed_ to, and – and if you will not authorize for him to return without imprisonment, then I will help him somewhere else.”

Mace frowned and crossed his arms. “Do I need to remind you that you are a Council member with a Padawan in the temple, Master Kenobi?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said carefully. “And I don’t suppose I need to remind you, Master, that Ahsoka is just as keen to see Anakin in good health as I am.” Windu and Yoda exchanged an unreadable look. Obi-Wan tried again, “Masters, you know how much respect I have for the Council. I have always been very careful about obeying your orders, and I have tried to instill that same obedience in my Padawans, to varying success. But if you are going to ask me to do something that I think will hurt Anakin more than he has already been hurt, then I will not do what you wish.”

“Give us a moment,” Mace said, and the image of them vanished. Obi-Wan sat back in the pilot’s seat and ran a hand through his hair. Briefly, he watched the leaves on the trees outside sway in the island breeze, vaguely wondering if he should go check on Anakin until the hologram reappeared.

“Very well, Obi-Wan,” Windu said. “You may bring Skywalker back to the temple under three conditions. First, he will be stripped of his lightsaber indefinitely. Second, he must remain with you or under guard at all times. Third, when you arrive we will closely examine him for ourselves to be sure that what he has told you is the truth.”

Obi-Wan listened, and nodded. “That seems fair. I will give him your conditions.”

“He’s going to have to be very careful, Obi-Wan,” Windu warned. “We will not treat any slip-ups as such. We will be operating under the assumption that he may still have some allegiance to the Sith.”

For a moment, Obi-Wan considered responding. Instead, he said, “Thank you, Masters,” and shut off the comm a little too quickly.

* * *

 

It was almost nightfall on Coruscant when they arrived. The sky had a rosy glow about it when they entered the atmosphere, and Anakin stared off into the distance as he had stared off into hyperspace the entire way home. So different from the chattery Padawan of years ago.

Obi-Wan pointed off into the distance as he flew. “That round-topped building over there is the Senate, there’s the entertainment district. And there is the Jedi Temple.”

He had to admit, he was glad to be home. Those five temple spires against the dusk night were a comfort to any war-weary Jedi. Over the comm, Obi-Wan informed the temple of their arrival and piloted the ship to the main spire’s hangar. A bit of a bumpy landing, but then again of the two in the shuttle Obi-Wan was _not_ the better flyer.

“Do you still like to fly?” he asked conversationally as they shut the ship down. Trying to lighten the mood. Trying to keep Anakin from worrying about whatever interrogation he was about to get.

Anakin just looked at him for a minute like he was caught off-guard, like he didn’t understand why anyone would ask. “I guess.”

Obi-Wan flipped a switch and lowered the exit ramp. In the artificially lit hangar bay stood a small reception, waiting for them. Ahsoka, Mace – and four faceless temple guards. Anakin seemed to figure it out and shot him an accusatory glare. “I thought you said that....”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said, and he meant it. “I didn’t think they would do this. It will be all right. Just – try not to hide from the Force. Just try to be honest with them. They already know the circumstances, hopefully there will be no surprises.”

He walked forward, and Anakin followed behind. When they approached, the temple guards raised their unignited lightsaber hilts and said, “Hands up!”

Glancing at Obi-Wan, Anakin did as they said. He looked confused and frightened as one of the guards plucked his lightsaber off his belt. Ahsoka was staring angrily at Windu. Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest and said to Mace, “Master, I don’t think this is necessary. Anakin is not a threat.”

“We will determine that, Obi-Wan,” Mace said coolly. He looked at Anakin. “Follow me.”

They did, out of the hangar and into the main turbolift to the Council’s chamber. Anakin squirmed under the watchful gaze of the Jedi. Ahsoka lingered back with Obi-Wan and they exchanged a worried look. When they entered the Council chamber, thankfully the guards remained outside. Good. Their presence had been unnecessary, anyway, _especially_ given that the nine Council members currently on Coruscant were also nine of the most proficient warriors in the galaxy. Mace went to his seat, Anakin went to the center; Obi-Wan remained with Ahsoka by the door.

Yoda spoke first. He opened his eyes, probably coming out of meditation. “Welcome back, young Skywalker. A long time it has been.” Anakin fidgeted with his hands and didn’t say anything.

Windu, stoic as ever, said, “Anakin Skywalker. You are responsible for killing fifteen Jedi Knights and an uncounted number of clone troopers. Do you deny this?”

Obi-Wan’s sense of Anakin wavered. He could tell Anakin was trying to keep the Force open, honest, like he had said. “No,” Anakin said.

“To whom does your allegiance lie?” Master Mundi asked.

Anakin put his arms around himself protectively. “No one. Myself, I don’t know.”

“To the Sith?” Windu asked.

“No.”

Yoda put his hands together over the grip of his stick. “Your Sith master, Darth Sidious is?”

“Was. Yes.”

“Tell us who this Sidious is, can you?”

Anakin’s face twisted in confusion. “I don’t know. He’s just Sidious.”

“Does Sidious have direct influence on anyone in the Galactic Republic?” Windu asked.

“Not that I know of,” Anakin said. His voice shook. “I don’t know.”

“Is it true that Darth Sidious has full control over the Senate?”

Anakin bit his lip. “I really don’t know anything about the Republic, honestly.”

Windu sat back in his chair and surveyed Anakin with an unreadable expression. “I and many others on this Council find it difficult to believe that you could work so closely with a Sith Lord and be so unaware of his actions and identity.”

“I didn’t ‘work closely’ with him,” Anakin said. “I just did whatever he told me to, because if I didn’t....” He trailed off, and looked distantly at the floor.

Breaking the silence, Yoda said, “Tell us where he is, can you?”

Anakin looked up, a heaviness pulling at his frown that hadn’t been there before. He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again. The room waited as he closed his eyes for a few seconds and then opened them. Looked around again. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry, did you ask another question?”

Obi-Wan saw Ahsoka glance at him. Saw a few Council members glance at each other, too. He tried to keep a straight face. Yoda repeated his question, and Anakin said, “Oh. Um...he – he was on Serenno, but I think that was a few weeks ago. He’s probably not there now.”

Obi-Wan frowned deeply. He said, “Were you in Count Dooku’s palace?” Anakin looked at him and nodded. Obi-Wan had to admit he felt a tad sick at the thought – he had visited Dooku’s palace undercover not eleven months ago. _Oh dear Force please tell me I didn’t visit it while Anakin was there._ But that mystery would have to wait.

“And you have no more information as to Sidious’s whereabouts?” Windu said, his tone explicitly suspicious.

Anakin said, “No.”

The meeting lapsed into silence, and suddenly it was just like over twelve years ago, when a nine-year-old boy had stood in that same spot, cold and afraid and longing for his mother. It was the same now, really. Obi-Wan took a deep, calming breath. Patience, he told himself. Wait it out.

The Council Chamber was like a nucleus of Force-power. Ideally, the Force here was supposed to be reflective, light, meditative, serene. More often of late, it was conflicted, tense, shadowy. Now, it was... _uncomfortable._ It was a reflection, Obi-Wan knew, of Anakin’s own feelings; the man was like a battery-powered generator of Force energy. In the Council Chamber of all places, his feelings were magnified, and with him keeping himself open, any trained Force-sensitive could see straight through him. So it was that the Masters in their chairs did now. Looking at Anakin’s truth. His darkness. His fears.

And Anakin looked so uncomfortable. The defensive, protective master in Obi-Wan wanted to jump to the rescue. _Just wait_ , he told himself. _Wait, and be calm for him._

Two more minutes. Five, of just silence. Ten, and it was too much. Not for him, but for Anakin. He looked like he wanted to cry. When he saw Anakin glance at him, a sort of plea in his eyes, Obi-Wan decided to end this.

“That’s enough,” he said, breaking the silence and moving to join Anakin in the center. A room full of the eyes of his superiors turned to him. Some were surprised. Very well – it was true that standing up to the Council was _not_ one of the things for which he was better known.

Windu looked at him. “We have not yet finished our examination, Master Kenobi.”

_Calm._ “Twelve years ago, your examination took several hours and you had already made up your mind before you began,” he said pointedly. “Forgive me, Master, but what else is there that you could possibly need to find out?”

“The truth,” Mace said sharply. “As I said, it is difficult to believe that someone who was so comfortable with killing Jedi can come seek forgiveness from us without an ulterior motive. The crimes that you have committed to this Order cannot be forgiven.”

Something changed in Anakin, and in the corner of his eye Obi-Wan saw him cross his arms over his chest. “I don’t need your forgiveness,” he said, with just a touch of his old, typical defiant nature. “I just need a – uh –” He glanced sideways at Obi-Wan. “What did you call it?”

Oh. “Asylum,” Obi-Wan said, glancing at Windu, whose eyebrows raised in unsympathetic skepticism.

“Asylum is granted for refugees, victims of another state,” Windu said, his words harsh and biting. “Not war criminals.”

Obi-Wan replied coolly, “In a democracy, asylum is granted to those who are in danger. That situation applies here.”

“In what way?”

Before Obi-Wan could speak, Anakin cut him off. “They tortured me! That’s the only reason I ever did what they told me to in the first place, because if I didn’t they’d keep torturing me until I did!” Obi-Wan realized he was shaking. Anakin continued, “No one lasts under that kind of torture. No one.”

Stern, Windu refuted, “You cannot expect us to admit someone who has murdered fifteen Jedi to roam the temple as he pleases.”

“I don’t _care_ about the temple, I just –” Something changed again, and in an instant Anakin went from the echo of his past arrogant, overconfident, brash self back to his bruised and battered self of the present. “Just keep me away from the Sith, please, that’s all I want. I don’t care about anything else.”

For a long moment, Yoda and Windu exchanged looks with each other. Then, Yoda said, “A moment alone with Obi-Wan, we need, Padawan Tano, young Skywalker.” Ahsoka and Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan before walking out together. Obi-Wan watched them leave, then turned to Yoda and Windu. He waited.

Yoda spoke first. “Much fear there is in him,” he said. “More even than when he first came here.”

“Much of that fear is directed at the Jedi,” Saesee Tiin added. “He hardly spoke, and he seemed withdrawn.”

“That is because he thinks the Jedi want to kill him,” Obi-Wan said. “I told him on the way here that the Jedi are benevolent and just in nature. I would very much like for him to believe that, as I do.”

Windu said, “I don’t trust him.”

Obi-Wan looked at him. “With respect, Master, you never have.”

Windu looked at Yoda, then the other members of the Council. “Obi-Wan, what I think you haven’t fully come to terms with is that the boy killed at least _fifteen_ Jedi, including two Padawans.”

“So what do you want to do, Master?” Obi-Wan said flatly. “Imprison him? You must have sensed it. He was not lying. All he wants is protection from the Sith.”

Ki-Adi-Mundi said, “The safest place for him, therefore, _would_ be under guard within the temple.”

“A servant of the dark side, he has become,” Yoda added. “Full of fear and anger he is, more than ever before. If not fully gone to the dark side is he, soon may he fall the rest of the way. A dangerous effect that would have, on Jedi in the temple.”

Obi-Wan said, “I will work with him to ensure that does not come to pass.”

“Such energy you have?” Yoda asked. “Such commitment?”

Plo Koon said, “Skywalker is no longer your Padawan.”

“And furthermore,” Windu added, “You have a responsibility to Padawan Tano, this Order, and the seat on this Council to which we have appointed you.”

“And I am very appreciative of that position, Masters, but that does not mean I can stand by and let Anakin be treated the opposite of how he deserves. The circumstances that he has been thrust into are not his fault. We cannot punish him for things that the Sith did to him.”

“The circumstances in which he committed these crimes are inconsequential,” Mundi said. “We simply cannot allow him to roam the temple freely.”

“You won’t have to,” said Obi-Wan. “I will look after him. He won’t go anywhere without me or Ahsoka being there.”

Saesee Tiin was next. “Do you believe Padawan Tano could fend him off in event of an incident?”

Obi-Wan forced the beast of impatience inside him down. “There will not be any incidents, because Anakin is not a Sith agent. You have my word on that.”

Mace leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, considering him. “Obi-Wan, the time for you to take responsibility for all of Skywalker’s actions is long past. He is no longer a child. He is old enough to know exactly what he’s doing at all times.”

“He is a victim.”

“With victims of his own.”

“He never wanted to kill those Jedi,” Obi-Wan said, allowing only a little desperation to show. “He told me so himself. Please, Masters. He needs a normal life. He needs time. I’m not asking that you trust him. All I am asking is that you give him a chance. Let me look after him. I will not let anything happen, to him or to anyone else.”

“That may not be in your power,” said Master Mundi.

His jaw was tight. He loosened it. “No,” he agreed, “It may not.”

Yoda put his hands together. “Looked into Skywalker we have. Lying he was not, unless using the dark side to deceive us he was. Dangerous it is, to have a user of the dark side in our midst. Encourage him to break that habit, you must.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “He will be allowed to stay then?”

“Many exceptions we have granted Skywalker in the past,” Yoda said. “Another we must make now, if any chance there still is that the prophecy is true.” Obi-Wan wanted to bite his lip. Yes, of course. The prophecy. The only reason Anakin was ever relevant to them at all.

He chided himself. Surely that wasn’t true. Surely.

He said, “Thank you, Masters. I do not believe you will regret this.” He bowed.

A moment later, Anakin and Ahsoka were brought back in, joining Obi-Wan in the center circle. He could only spare them a few second’s glance, but it was easy to see that Anakin’s eyes were red and Ahsoka looked stricken. Oh, dear.

“We will allow you to stay, Skywalker,” Windu said, “Under the conditions you have already been given. You are to remain with Master Kenobi or Padawan Tano at all times.” Then he looked at Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. “Any mishap, therefore, will be _your_ responsibility.” They nodded, and he looked back at Anakin. “In the past, we have been lenient towards you because of your possible Chosen One status. You should not expect that same leniency now. We will not give you the benefit of the doubt if something happens. There will be no second chances.”

Lenient? Obi-Wan couldn’t bring himself to agree. From pre-pubescence to adulthood, the child and the man alike had been criticized, placed under a spotlight, outcast. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what universe someone would have to be from to think that Anakin had been treated with _leniency._ But then, Obi-Wan had to suppose he was biased.

Anakin nodded, and said quietly, flatly, “I understand.”

Yoda said, “May the Force be with us all.” Dismissal.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, “Will you please come with me?” and he ushered both Anakin and Ahsoka out the door, through the antechamber, and down the turbolift. The temple guards didn’t follow. Relief washed over him once again. The worst was over with, for now.

* * *

 

Through the halls and across the temple, they walked until they finally reached the living quarters. Obi-Wan went in first. Glancing at Anakin, he said, “We used to live together when you were my Padawan, and when the war started and you were knighted we never changed living arrangements.” He pointed around. “That’s the meditation room, over there we have a small kitchen, and a living area.” Then, he paused. Hesitated. “Does...anything seem familiar?”

Anakin looked around, and his expression gradually turned sad, like his expectations were let down. “No.”

“Let me show you your room,” Obi-Wan said. They walked down the short hall, and he pressed the button to open the door to Anakin’s bedroom. “Here it is,” he said, gesturing inside. With a wave of his hand, the lamp across the room turned on. Anakin poked his head in and looked around, uncertain. “There’s a ‘fresher through that door, and spare clothes in the closet. I cleaned it up a little, but I haven’t changed anything,” Obi-Wan added. Not that it mattered, he reflected. Anakin probably wouldn’t know the difference.

“Can I get you anything?” Obi-Wan asked. “Are you hungry?” Anakin shrugged and looked at the floor. Obi-Wan said, “Why don’t you get settled in, and I’ll bring something to you.”

“Okay,” Anakin said. “And, um...thank you. You didn’t have to fight for me.”

Obi-Wan smiled at him. “You’re with friends now. Friends fight for each other.”

Anakin looked at him with an expression that was almost a smile, nodded, and went into his room. Then, Obi-Wan walked back into the living area and collapsed on the couch where Ahsoka had made herself at home. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Well at least that’s over with.”

Quiet, reserved, she said, “I never thought I’d see you standing up to the Council like that.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I’m finally living up to my master’s legacy.” She smirked humorlessly, and picked at the hem of her skirt. “Are you all right, Ahsoka?”

She shrugged. “It’s not me you have to worry about.”

“If I don’t, then who will?”

Her eyes distant, she didn’t respond. Instead, she said, “He’s going to need more help than we can give him, Master.”

“I know.”

“I – I don’t know how to deal with stuff like this.” She looked at him, wide-eyed. “I’m scared.”

“So am I.” Feeling immeasurably old, Obi-Wan stood up and headed towards the kitchen. “So am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my friends!!!! Shoutout to those who left comments on the last chapter!! Thank you so much!!!!!  
> Anyway, the next chapter will hopefully be up sometime next month. It's Anakin POV again, and it's about 10,000 words long as of right now. Then comes a chapter for Padme, then Ahsoka, then Obi-Wan, as they all struggle to figure things out. It's good stuff ;)  
> Things are starting to look up!! See you soon AO3!!


	18. Ani

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say a quick thanks for waiting, guys. Since last we met, I managed to finish college, win an award on a paper I wrote, get the stomach flu and start my summer job again, so I’ve been very busy. But I FINALLY have time to write this again, and believe me I’ve really wanted to! So thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy it!!
> 
> **Warnings:** Depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, thoughts of self-harm. As the author, it’s hard for me to tell how intense it is, but I know how easily people can be triggered so if you want more details before you read it absolutely feel free to PM me about it. Safety is always the most important!

 

**PART I: THE THIRTEEN DAYS**

 

The very first thing that Anakin did when the door to his new, or old, bedroom closed behind him was collapse against the wall and slide to the ground. Kenobi – uh, Obi-Wan –  had turned the light on, so he looked around. There was a workbench covered with tools and a scattered arrangement of machine parts; a dusty circular chair probably used for meditating, like Sidious had said the Jedi do; a poster on the wall, and in front of it what looked like a small yellow model ship; tarnished metal crates, piled in a corner; the bed had red sheets, smoothed out and meticulously neat. Through the open blinds of the window, the dark cityscape of this planet – Coruscant, right? –  shown in the form of a thousand pinpricks of light. There was, notably, nothing in this room to indicate that he specifically had been the one to live here.

He supposed that made sense. On the way, Obi-Wan had said that Jedi relinquish all material possessions besides what they can carry on their person. Indeed, Anakin hadn’t exactly expected a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a comfortable-looking bed. Not that he had really had many expectations at all, but...this was a lot more than he could remember (which was basically nothing) and a lot more than he’d thought he would ever get. He didn’t know what to do with all of it, so instead of doing anything he just kind of sat there, against the wall, until a buzz on his door sounded and he said, “Uh huh.”

The door opened, and it was Obi-Wan again. He noticed Anakin there against the wall, cleared his throat, and knelt down. “I, ah, brought you some soup, if you want it. I know you said you’ve had a liquid diet, so I thought it would be a good idea to try to adjust back to solids slowly.”

Anakin nodded dumbly. “Thanks.”

Obi-Wan looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he put the soup on the floor and said, “I’ll just leave it here. And, like I said, just...let me know if you need anything.”

The door closed again. Anakin looked down. The soup was just a light broth, but it smelled good, and a sample sip gave him a taste of herbs and vegetables and actually, it was delicious.... Okay, well, maybe anything would be delicious after that mush he used to eat, after months of ration bars and IVs and worst of all those _feeding tubes_...but he was also sure that if he could only eat one thing every day for the rest of his life he would be fine with it if it was this soup. When had he ever enjoyed eating?

When his stomach was full (in fact, so full he thought he might throw up, but then again he felt vaguely nauseous a lot of the time so who’s to say it had to be the soup?) he got up and laid down on the bed. Two minutes later, he got up again, because there was no way he could ever fall asleep on this thing, it was more like a cloud than a surface to sleep on, too plush and soft for someone who’d done the things he had done so instead he got down again on the hard floor and in another two minutes he felt very, very sleepy....

* * *

 

On the second day, Anakin woke up and blinked in the sunlight, not quite sure what to do with himself, and when he finally got up off the floor he started examining his room. There were heads of droids and arms of droids and torsos and legs, and wires and screws and plates and gears and the tools to put them all together. In the crates were more materials, airbrushes and power converters, tangled cables and motivators, broken commlinks and spare eyes for protocol droids. One whole crate was dedicated to accessories for an astromech, but there was no such droid in sight so he left it for later and explored elsewhere.

Under his bed were findings even more interesting. Piles of flimsi packets of droid schematics and starship schematics and schematics for a metal arm. He looked at his with newfound amazement – perhaps he had been remembering wrong the whole time, but he had always sort of assumed the Sith had given the arm to him in order to, ahem, making more use of him _._ He put the plans off to the side to reassess the arm situation later.

Also he found writings, reports, datachips with tiny labels. In a small box he found disks of holorecordings, some of HoloNet broadcasts and programs and speeches by a woman with a pretty face and ornate outfits. And there were drawings, done by his own hand: drawings of more starships, and he recognized one as the yellow starfighter model that he had only spared a passing glance to before; drawings of different alien species, of animals, of speeders and podracers, some dated as long as twelve years ago; and of people, pages and pages of doodles of a woman in different dresses and hairstyles. He wondered if it was supposed to be the same woman as in the recordings. He supposed the only person that could really answer was himself.

Halfway through the day, Obi-Wan reminded him to eat; he did, and then Obi-Wan said, “I don’t know if you saw, but there’s a closet in your ‘fresher with all your old clothes. I know it might feel strange wearing Jedi attire, but....” So Anakin looked, and he found tunics and synth-leather tabards of dark browns and blacks, black boots and mismatched gloves, the rights of which had metal clasps and were made of a material used for insulating droid parts. It wasn’t until he had taken a shower and put on these new clothes that he remembered just how suffocating the Sith’s outfit for him was. He threw the latter in a corner of the closet and only spared it a final glance when he retrieved the blue lightsaber crystal from a pocket and hid it under the pillow on the bed.

It was so bizarre. It was unreal. This was him. This was who he was, or who he used to be. Someone who planned out starships, who built droids, who watched the HoloNet for speeches by this woman, who put together models of starfighters in his spare time, who had designed his own metal arm and drew pictures of the people he had met, who had a list of planets that he had visited in the past and had a poster of a podrace on his wall. It felt strange. It didn’t feel right, not at all. It felt stolen. These things, they didn’t feel as if they belonged to him. And really, they didn’t. Because that person didn’t exist anymore, and he probably never would again.

Anakin – if he really had a right to call himself that (what would the old him have thought if he had known what was in store for him?) – rubbed his eyes. Who really _was_ he?

* * *

 

On the third day, Anakin went out and asked Obi-Wan if he would repeat the story of how he had come to be used by the Sith (because the first time, to be honest, all he had been able to think about was the fact that he’d never be able to see his mom ever, ever again, and, well...). With a hint of hesitation, Obi-Wan obliged, telling him about a prisoner exchange deal that someone named Padmé hadn’t gone through with, about Anakin’s death being faked over the HoloNet, and that oh yes Padmé was his wife, the human woman from that cold planet that the Sith had tried to wipe from his memory.

“I don’t really remember that day,” Anakin said, fiddling with the material of his glove.

“That’s all right,” Obi-Wan reassured him. “Not much actually happened. But, I was just talking with Padmé yesterday, and we thought maybe you would like to meet her again some time.”

Confused, Anakin asked, “But didn’t you just say that she....”

Obi-Wan frowned. “That she refused to accept the prisoner exchange, yes, but...you have to understand, Padmé is a politician, and an excellent one at that, and General Grievous was responsible for millions of deaths across the galaxy. It wasn’t a decision that she _wanted_ to make, but it was the one she thought was morally right. And believe me, she suffered immensely because of it.”

Anakin looked at the table and didn’t say anything. Obi-Wan leaned in and said, softly now, “All I want you to do is meet her. I think you’ll be able to see how much she cares about you, and that she never wanted to lose you in the first place. Just think about it, please?”

Unsure, Anakin nodded.

* * *

 

Four days, and Anakin accepted Obi-Wan and Ahsoka’s offer to tour the Jedi Temple. He hadn’t really looked at it on the first night – that anxiety attack outside the Jedi Council room had really done a number on him – but the place was very impressive. Huge ceilings in every corridor, every chamber, massive windows that showed a plane of uneven permacrete and chrome as the city stretched on for miles outside. Similarly clothed persons of all species roamed the halls, some old and some young, some rowdy but most quiet. Some didn’t spare them a passing glance, some gave a curt nod of acknowledgement which Obi-Wan returned, and some flat out stared. At them, sort of, but mostly at Anakin, and most of these were young, teenaged or younger. He bit his lip, fought the sudden wave of nausea as he remembered smoldering young bodies lying on the ground, and looked out the window as if it were the most interesting thing in the universe.

“How young do people join the Jedi?” he asked.

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka shared a look he didn’t try to decipher. Obi-Wan said, “When children in the Republic are born, they’re given a midi-chlorian test, and if they’re applicable the parents can choose to give their children to the Jedi or not. So, to answer your question, no older than three.”

“Except you,” Ahsoka said. “You were nine.”

There was a lot more to it than that, Anakin could tell, but he decided not to press it right now, right here. Instead, he asked, “How many Jedi are there?”

Ten thousand, they said, which meant Anakin had killed fifteen out of ten thousand. Well, that didn’t sound so bad, actually, when he thought about it....

_No._ What the hell? What a stupid thought. He had _killed fifteen whole_ – ugh. He didn’t want to think about this now. Of course, trying not to think about it just made him think about it even harder....

They showed him around. Eating areas, outdoor areas, training dojos, the archives, there’s the healing ward and here’s the fountain room, more training rooms over there. Science labs, teaching rooms, there was too much to consider and not enough space in his brain for all of this (which implied that there was something filling up his brain like, say, memory, so on second thought maybe that wasn’t true) and everywhere, everywhere they went it not only _felt_ like there were eyes on him but he was really pretty sure that there were _actual_ eyes on him, too. Peeking through doorways, around corners, sideways glances at them by eager-looking children and wizened, ancient elders, he felt claustrophobic, smothered by all the looks and attention and please he wanted to shrink from existence not be the center of everyone’s focus, and –

Obi-Wan noticed. “Are you all right, Anakin?”

Anakin swallowed. He didn’t know the answer to that question. “People are watching us.”

Ahsoka looked around like she was oblivious, but Obi-Wan exhaled sadly. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry, but the Council has been rather, well....”

“Uptight and overly-suspicious,” Ahsoka offered, then looked at Obi-Wan. “No offense.”

Obi-Wan’s expression was shrewd, but it softened a moment later and he said to Anakin, “We can go back if you want, we’ve certainly already seen enough....”

Anakin nodded, trying not to feel the seemingly thousand different stares in his direction, but then Ahsoka said suddenly, “Wait!” and they looked at her. She pointed at the large metal door near them. “We’re just by the hangar, which is where you _always_ used to hang out, and there’s something I wanted to show you in there. Please? Then you can go back. It’ll be quick.”

Reluctantly, Anakin agreed, and behind the door was a very large, cavernous hangar with more than a dozen starfighters and gunships, and people rushing about. The clanging of metal and the whirring of drills and the unintelligible chatter of all the beings, he saw clones and more Jedi and people who appeared to be neither. This was where he’d` spent his time, Ahsoka had said, and he could see why, because somehow this place felt more like _home_ than the too-comfortable bed and the stranger’s clothes and –

He heard what sounded like the excited whistling scream of something in binary and five seconds later a white and blue astromech was hurtling toward him so fast it couldn’t stop in time and it collided with Anakin’s knees, knocking him back a step. It backed up and looked up at him, beeping over and over and over, YOU’RE BACK, YOU’RE BACK, YOU’RE BACK –

Ahsoka was laughing. Anakin looked up at her, astonished. She said, “This little guy is R2-D2. He always went on missions with you, and I’ve been using him since you...but I thought you might want him back.” With a grin, she added, “And I _knew_ he would want _you_ back.”

The droid beeped. YOU DON’T REMEMBER ME?

Anakin said, “I don’t remember anything.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot up. “You can still understand what it says?”

R2-D2 whistled an indignant response, and Anakin felt his face twist in a frown. “I didn’t forget how to talk, did I?”

Obi-Wan flushed pink and looked away. “Sorry.”

Glancing between them, Ahsoka leaned down and patted Artoo on his canister body. “Well, you’re free to take him if you want. He could probably use some work, but we owe a lot to this little buddy. Right, Artoo?”

The droid beeped, YOU HAD BETTER BELIEVE IT, and Anakin, kneeling, had to hide a sudden smile behind his hand. Sure, he would take him, he had all those astromech parts in his room after all and this must be why, and the way this droid shook itself back and forth on its two standing legs reminded him of an excitable house pet that wanted to go for a walk. Then –

There, in the corner of his eye, Anakin saw someone looking in their direction, and he remembered, the stares all around him boring into him like laser beams –

He stood up, pretending nothing was wrong, and said to Artoo, “Come on, little guy. You wanna come home with me?”

* * *

 

On the fifth night, at zero hundred hours, Anakin sat outside on the small balcony that was connected to their suite by a transparisteel door, staring out at but not really seeing the thousand pinpricks of city lights against the horizon. No stars were visible from this planet. There was hardly any sound, either; the main city was too far away. Somehow, it felt like he was all alone, isolated from both the thousands of Jedi in the temple and the trillion civilians on the rest of the planet.

_strapped down screaming seizing against the restraints pain pain blackness, waking up, he couldn’t make sense of anything, people moving around, tasting vomit and blood_

It was chilly out, not that cold probably but he was cold anyway. It didn’t matter. Inside the temple, he didn’t belong. It was too luxurious and comfortable. He wanted to like it, but he couldn’t make himself do so.

_a hypo pressed against his skin, the unpleasant tickle of people running their fingers over him, a mechanic fiddling with his metal arm, touching touching touching, there was a bad taste in his mouth and he had a headache but no one could know, show no pain, show no discomfort_

He heard the sound of a door sliding open, and Anakin couldn’t tell if it was real or in his memory, but a second later a voice said his name and he looked around. It was Obi-Wan, dressed in cream-colored nightclothes, looking down at him with an expression Anakin would probably describe as ‘gentle.’

“Do you want some company?” Anakin didn’t really know how to answer that, and Obi-Wan seemed to sense as much, so he said instead, “Can I sit down?”

Anakin nodded. Obi-Wan sat and leaned against the wall. Anakin looked back at the city. It strained his eyes to focus on something so far away so he closed them instead.

_the onyx colored walls and floor of Tyranus’s throne room seemed to glisten as his lightsaber and the MagnaGuards’ staffs hit each other, bright flashes of light in his peripheral vision were enough to throw off his concentration because he couldn’t focus on_ anything _, one droid’s staff hit him in the back and he fell, he could sense Sidious’s disapproval as surely as he could feel the electricity pulsing through his body_

He opened his eyes and looked sideways at Obi-Wan, who glanced at him and smiled.

_the heat of two suns, the gentle feeling of warmth and longing as his mom ran a hand through his hair and kissed him on his forehead and told him that everything was going to be all right_

That one probably wasn’t a real memory. Some of this stuff he was sure he made up. Still, he felt his eyes well up with tears and bit his lip hard and turned away so Obi-Wan wouldn’t see. It felt like there was a crushing weight on his chest and a pressure pushing him down and down and down.

He didn’t know how long they sat in silence. Obi-Wan didn’t say a word, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Eventually, it had probably been half an hour, Obi-Wan turned and said, “I think I’ll call it a night. Do you want to come in?” Anakin shook his head. “All right. It’s cold, so don’t stay out all night. Try to get some sleep.” Nod.

_left in a room all alone, that’s what he was, alone alone alone all the time even when he was surrounded by people he was alone...._

Anakin opened his eyes, not having realized he closed them. The sky was a different color, a sort of rich shade of blue. He was shivering again. He must have dozed off. He got up, went back to his room, pulled a blanket around himself and curled up on the bed. It was still too soft to sleep in, but that was okay. He didn’t want to go back to sleep. He didn’t want to do anything at all.

* * *

 

When he woke up on the afternoon of the sixth day, Anakin knew that something was going to happen. At first, he wasn’t sure if the sense of foreboding he felt was in his mind or in the Force, but he tried to act normally, eating breakfast and taking a shower, hoping he was just being paranoid. Two hours later, though, he noticed something obscuring his vision, a blotchy spot and strange squiggly lines. Another half hour, and he was back in bed as a tiny nonexistent being burrowed in his brain and hit the right side of his skull with a hammer over, and over, and over and over and over and overandoverandoverandover and why was this pain even so bad, he wasn’t even fighting droids or killing Jedi or flying ships, he was lying in bed so why was it still so bad, someone turn down the sun and for the Force’s sake make it _stop...._

* * *

 

Late on the seventh afternoon, the pain had subsided, and Anakin couldn’t stop counting his blessings. This was the shortest one ever, he thought, and not short enough, but at least it was over and at least he could move again without sending what felt like ice picks up to stab his brain.

When he left his room to get some water, Obi-Wan looked up from what he was reading, clearly relieved. “There you are, I was worried. Are you feeling all right?”

“Yeah,” Anakin said casually, pouring the water. “I just had a headache.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “You mean like the one from Sharlissia? You should have told me, I felt how bad that one was through the Force, and if I had known it happened again I would have brought a doctor here.”

Suddenly, Anakin found his throat swelling up, and his hands started shaking. “Well, I’m fine now, so....”

“Well, I should still take you to the healing ward,” Obi-Wan said matter-of-factly, as if it were so simple. “If you keep getting migraines and seizures, then there’s obviously a medical problem behind it.”

Anakin put the glass down on the counter, looking away. “It’s fine, really,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse and quaky. “They um – they already looked at me on Serenno, and it’s fine.”

Obi-Wan put his hand on his beard. “Well, there are plenty of medications that could help, if you would at least consider a check up –”

“I’m fine!” Anakin said again, a little too quickly. Obi-Wan’s eyebrows raised. It felt like there was a weight on Anakin’s chest, making it hard to breathe. “I just – I don’t need a doctor, okay? My seizures aren’t that bad, and – and this wasn’t a migraine, it was just a headache, and headaches happen, honestly there’s nothing wrong with me, okay? It’s fine.”

He knew Obi-Wan wasn’t buying it. He knew Obi-Wan could see straight through the lie. Still, Obi-Wan said, reserved, “Well, let me know if you change your mind.”

* * *

 

On the eighth day, Anakin worked up the nerve to accept Obi-Wan’s offer to leave their suite again. He was sure they would still be spied at by a host of different parties, but something about being cooped up in their suite was starting to make him feel jittery and restless. They went to the temple archives, which they had only glanced into on their first walk around, and Anakin had to admit there was something awe-inspiring about the place. Shelves from floor to ceiling were packed with information, which Obi-Wan noted was the most expansive collection of sentient knowledge in the entire galaxy, collected over thousands of years. Anakin had never seen anything like it. Well, technically he had, but....

They settled at a computer terminal, away from everyone else. Obi-Wan told him about the Jedi, their history, their place in the war, and whenever Anakin asked him to repeat something he did so, patient and understanding. And that in itself was nothing short of a relief – when had anyone ever been anything _near_ patient and understanding towards him?

While Obi-Wan was rifling through information at a computer terminal to find things that might be useful to function in this very large and confusing galaxy, Anakin said, “I just remembered something that I meant to ask you...last week, in the Council, someone said something about a ‘Chosen One’? What is that?”

Obi-Wan had a funny look on his face at that, something halfway between apprehensive and irritated. “Oh, well...there is this, ah, prophecy, and – well, let me pull it up.” He fiddled around with the terminal until a few lines of text waited on the screen.

Anakin stared hard at the words, willing his annoying brain to concentrate. He skipped some it but for the most part he gathered,

_destroy the Sith_

_bring balance to the Force_

Blankly, he said, “They think this is about me?” He blinked. “Why?”

Measured, Obi-Wan replied, “When my master, Qui-Gon, found you on Tatooine, he believed that the Force brought him to you because you were chosen by it to bring peace to the galaxy.” He exhaled, looking weary. “No one knows for certain if this actually has any relevant meaning, or if it’s really meant to be you.”

Anakin still didn’t get it. “But why me?”

Obi-Wan let out a soft sigh. Anakin knew logically that the annoyance wasn’t directed at him, but it still sort of felt like it was. “Well, you have the highest midi-chlorian count ever recorded in a lifeform. You were born without a father, and you showed up seemingly out of nowhere during the beginning of a galactic conflict unlike any we’ve ever seen.” He put his hand to his mouth and looked pensive and a little melancholy. “Those are the reasons they give, anyway.”

Anakin glanced at the words and then back at Obi-Wan. Suddenly, a thought struck him and a heat rose in his face. “Is this the only reason you brought me back?”

“No!” Obi-Wan blanched. “I promise it’s not. I meant everything I said, I really just want to help you.”

“Well is it the reason _they_ allowed me to come back?” Anakin demanded, and Obi-Wan looked down. “Tell me the truth.”

Slowly, Obi-Wan said, “Yes. Probably. I haven’t been with them in all of their meetings.” He looked dejected, and Anakin stared at the wall, angry and dismal and a little (or a lot) betrayed. Obi-Wan noticed. “Listen, I don’t want you to worry about this right now. You have enough on your mind, which is why I never mentioned this before. Besides, there is no proof that this prophecy is talking about you.”

Anakin nodded dully, and tried to return Obi-Wan’s comforting smile. No success there.

* * *

 

On the ninth day, Anakin took to fiddling with R2-D2. The astromech was surprisingly lifelike, more so than any droid Anakin had ever met at least, and it wasn’t long before Anakin realized he was more comfortable talking to this funny beeping machine than any living being.

“It’s like,” he explained one afternoon in his room, “If all your memory banks were wiped clean but all the other stuff, like technical data and mechanical instructions were still there. I never forgot how to talk or how machines work or anything, but I can’t remember a thing about who I am or anything I’ve done in the past. Well, except my mom.” He heaved a sigh, and leaned against the side of his bed. “And she’s gone.”

Artoo beeped mournfully in understanding, and whistled, YOUR FRIENDS ARE HERE FOR YOU.

Anakin surprised himself by laughing. _Force_ , that felt good. And a little strange, that a droid could make him crack his first real smile in...well, um...he didn’t want to think about how long.

He patted the droid on the dome. “Thanks, buddy. That means a lot.” Artoo’s indicator light twinkled cheerfully.

More people should have droids as friends. They’d be surprised.

* * *

 

Day ten, and Anakin found himself in the backseat of a speeder next to Ahsoka as Obi-Wan flew them to the apartment of that woman – his wife – _Padmé_. They parked in the lot and rode the turbolift up, stopping at the penthouse and entering a room with a transparisteel ceiling and yellow couches. A gold protocol droid shuffled up to meet them.

“Good afternoon, Master Kenobi, Mistress Tano, and – oh my –”

“Wait, Threepio!” a female voice called, and up ran a pretty woman with curly brown hair and excited brown eyes. She came to a jolting stop next to the droid. “Hold on, Threepio –”

“The maker!” the droid said, throwing his arms as high as they would go. “Master Anakin, it is so good to see you again, it has been such a long time and ever since I heard you were alive I have been hoping you would return –”

It took a moment to register what the droid had said, and Anakin had to drag his gaze away from the woman (who he suddenly realized was the same woman from the holorecordings in his room) to look at the droid. The woman – Padmé – cut in, “Threepio, remember what I _just_ told you?”

The droid looked at her, then back at Anakin. “Oh, yes. Forgive me. I am C-3PO, human-cyborg relations. I am fluent in over six million forms of communication, and I am most pleased to say that you, Master Anakin, are my maker.”

Anakin’s mouth fell open slightly, lost for words. Off to the side, Ahsoka was smirking, and Obi-Wan seemed exasperated. Padmé said, beaming, “Threepio was the first droid that you ever made, and I had hoped to introduce you more subtly than that, but...anyway.” She cleared her throat and smoothed out her dress. Then she broke into a wide grin. “Come in, all of you, please.”

They did, through the entry room and down some stairs, into a charming dining space with light purple walls and a white-clothed table. Through the windows, Anakin noticed, he could see the Jedi temple far in the distance. Before he had a chance to sit down beside Obi-Wan, however, Padmé said, in a significantly weaker voice than just a moment ago, “Anakin? Would you um...mind talking for just a minute, in private?”

With a glance at Ahsoka and Obi-Wan, he nodded, and they stepped through the doorway of another room and let the door close.

Padmé was wringing her hands together. She gave him a sort of weak smile, but it didn’t last. “So, um, Ani – Anakin,” she said, her fingers fidgeting with the ends of her hair. “So, I know this might be awkward or uncomfortable for you, because I know Obi-Wan told you about what happened a year ago....” She cleared her throat nervously. She didn’t appear able to meet his eyes. “Well, I um...I thought I might be more cognizant if I wrote it all down, so....”

She pulled something out of a fold in her dress. It was a folded up piece of flimsi, and she held it out to him delicately like it was a bomb waiting to go off. “You can read it whenever you want. Or, well, if you don’t want to, I’d understand. I just – don’t think I’ll ever be able to convey how sorry I am about what happened to you. It was my fault, I – if I had _ever_ known that the Sith were going to do this to you, I never would have done what I did. Never.” She sniffled. “I’m so sorry.”

He was so distant from all of this. It felt like she was apologizing for something that had happened to someone else. He took the flimsi with his metal hand and said quietly, not sure if he meant it or not, “Thank you.”

She tried to smile at him but still could barely meet his eyes. “If I can ever do anything for you, please just ask. I owe you so much, and...if you ever need anything, I – I’m here.”

Anakin nodded. “Thanks.”

They stood for a moment, not looking at each other, maybe half a meter’s space in between them. Then, Padmé cleared her throat and said. “Do you want to, um....”

“Yeah,” he said, and together they went back into the room where Ahsoka and Obi-Wan were sitting. Padmé smoothed her dress again and excused herself to get refreshments. When she returned, it was like nothing had ever happened. She had a smile on again, even though her cheeks and forehead were flushed red, and Anakin couldn’t help think that the rosy glow of her made her even prettier.... She sat across from him and smiled at him as if she had not just lost her composure only two minutes ago.

As it turned out, Anakin actually thought the day went kind of...well, nice, for the most part. The food was incredible (though, truthfully, he was still sure that any meal aside from grey mush and tasteless liquid was a wonder to behold) and his stomach kept fluttering whenever Padmé looked at him with that smile playing at her lips. When the food was finished, they moved down through a hall and then onto a large veranda with white silk curtains and a small fountain and bronzium statues of what looked like dancing gods.  The open view of the city stretched on into an endless collection of bluish skyscrapers.

C-3PO followed them to the curved circle of couches and asked, shy as a droid could be, “Master Anakin, I don’t suppose you would be interested in giving me a tune up? Some of my gears have not worked properly in I don’t know how long. At a more convenient time, of course.”

Padmé gave the droid a stern sort of look, but Anakin said he’d be fine with doing it right now if no one else minded, and five minutes later his three – well, friends? – had settled into the couches beside him, chatting and laughing with each other while he only sort of half-listened, opening up the droid’s casings to have a look. Well, these wires needed replacing and those servos were somehow fused together, there was something jammed in Threepio’s neck and his photoreceptors were so outdated it was a wonder he could still pick up the range of visual electromagnetic waves that he did....

Time passed, and eventually Anakin realized that it was silent so he looked around and saw that Padmé, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka were all staring at him. He said, suddenly nervous, “Did you ask me something?”

Padmé was the first to respond, and she looked flustered enough that Anakin could tell plain as day that they had _not_ asked him something. “Yes!” she said, clearing her throat. “I was just wondering if you had any questions you wanted to ask us, about things that happened, or, you know, anything.”

Actually, no, Anakin didn’t, because how could he have questions about something he didn’t remember if he had no reference point to start with? Still, the patient way that Padmé looked at him with those pretty brown eyes made him want to answer, so he looked around, trying to find something, and – oh, there’s one. “Yeah, actually – what happened with this?” He held up his right arm.

Obi-Wan leaned back in his seat and pulled his robes tight around him. “Ah. That was Dooku, during the first battle of the Clone War. You were still a Padawan.”

If he hadn’t felt so disgusted, and if the memories of Tyranus making lightsaber cuts in his arms and leg on Serenno weren’t so fresh, Anakin might have laughed. Dooku? Like, ‘That Droid Arm Is Disgusting And So Are You’ Dooku? Vader had known Tyranus hated him but this was a whole new level –

Not Vader. _Not_ Vader. Anakin, remember?

_don’t think about it, think about something else, ask someth_

“How did we meet?”

Padmé laughed. “Now _there’s_ a story. Do you want to tell it?” she asked Obi-Wan.

“Oh, no, you go ahead.”

So they told him, and normally it was hard for Anakin to pay complete attention to such long-winded explanations but now he found that with his hands busy with Threepio, he could actually follow most of it. Padmé had been queen of her planet Naboo, they said, and Obi-Wan had escorted her to Anakin’s planet Tatooine, there was a podrace and a spaceship that a nine-year-old Anakin had blown up (what?!), Neimoidians taking over Naboo and Obi-Wan killed a Sith (good) and Anakin was allowed to become a Jedi at an age older than anyone else ever had.

When they were done, Ahsoka told her story, how she and Anakin became apprentice and master (please no one _ever_ call him ‘Master’ again), and how they escorted the kidnapped, ailing child of Jabba the Hutt back to Tatooine. An image flashed in Anakin’s mind, those two suns and the burning sand, slaves and slimy space slugs and a loving woman...then he realized Ahsoka was still talking, about other adventures and clones and different species and battles. Padmé and Obi-Wan added details and their own stories, and for the rest of the night that’s all they did, the three of them laughing together and remembering things with smiles on their faces and fondness in their voices while Anakin sat there, listening like a stranger.

Suddenly, coming at him like an electric shock, Anakin found that the gap in his memory seemed to be three times as pronounced as it had ever been, and he wished without showing it on his face that he was at home, in bed, away from all this cheer and love and these stupid _memories_ that other people had of him, about him, in front of him. Then, when Padmé said his name to get his attention, Anakin realized it actually _had_ been showing on his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Anakin,” she said sincerely. “We got carried away, didn’t we? That was probably too much all at once, I’m sorry.”

_Don’t treat me like I’m stupid_ , Anakin found himself thinking, spontaneously annoyed at something he couldn’t quite place. He feigned indifference when he said, “It’s fine.”

He avoided their gazes while they looked between themselves awkwardly, and eventually Obi-Wan said, “It’s rather dark out, isn’t it?” _Yeah, we all have eyes._ “We should probably head back.”

Anakin turned Threepio back on, and stood up with the rest of them. They were making to leave when –

“Oh, I almost forgot! Anakin,” Padmé said. “It would probably be better if you don’t mention to anyone else that we’re married. I don’t know if you know, but the Jedi don’t really – well, _allow_ romantic relationships, and if word got out I could lose my career, and....”

Anakin was sure his look of confusion was clear, for Obi-Wan said, looking hesitant, “You see, the Jedi Code discourages attachments between people, and your relationship with Padmé had to be kept secret or else the Council might have expelled you from the Order, and – well, I would be happy to explain all of this in greater detail later....”

“It’s fine,” Anakin found himself saying. It really wasn’t, though, but he sort of kind of just really wanted to go home and think about this some other time. “I won’t say anything.” Like, who did they even think he would have told?

He was so tired. This was just too much. Way too much. It suddenly felt like there was a heavy weight on his shoulders. Everything was so complicated. Where was he even supposed to begin understanding it all?

He just wanted to sleep. Sleep was better than trying to understand. Sleep was the only escape.

* * *

 

Day eleven was uneventful. He woke up, stretched, ate enough to get rid of the nausea, lay in bed and watched the ceiling. More than once, he considered unfolding the piece of flimsi that Padmé had given him to read what she said was an apology, but...something about the idea made him so nervous that he ended up shoving it under his bed with the rest of his clutter and spent the rest of the day curled up under his covers, feeling very alone.

* * *

 

Early on the morning of the twelfth day, Anakin woke up from a nightmare. It was hardly the first – he had bad dreams almost every night that he managed to sleep at all – but this one left him sweaty and panting and shaking and very, very confused as to why he was in a comfortable bed with red sheets and not being woken to a metal table in a brightly lit room with hypos and needles and doctors and the pronounced stinging of chronic pain in seventeen different parts of his body _–_ actually, he did still have the last one....

It was still dark out – four hundred hours, his chronometer told him – but he Forced the lights on, dove under his bed, and pulled out the schematics that he’d found the second day for the arm that he had built from scratch. He pulled his sweaty sleep shirt off and sat against the wall, examining his arm. Tyranus had broken it all those months ago with his stupid lightsaber and the mechanics who had worked on a replacement were a disgrace to the field, if you asked him. The thing was cheap, and the electricity – _no don’t think about that don’t think about that don’t –_ had always made it short-circuit. The joints didn’t have full mobility, and it sometimes made this buzzing noise sometimes that Anakin hadn’t really noticed until he had come to Coruscant.... Yes, this arm would have to go.

“Artoo,” he said, and the droid’s processing light came on. “Hey, I need you to help me with something....”

* * *

 

By day thirteen, Anakin felt...well, honestly, he felt great. He hadn’t even known it was possible to feel this good. Sure, he was tired, because he’d hardly slept since he’d started the arm, but having a project that actually motivated him was such a blessing that he didn’t want to stop (because stopping meant sleeping and sleeping meant nightmares, not escape, how could he be so stupid to think there was any escape to be had for him at all) and by the early evening Artoo attached the new arm with only the smallest of electric feedback shocks up his arm. Twenty minutes later, flexing his numb shoulder, he went out of his room to show Obi-Wan with an actually real smile on his face.

Obi-Wan was beaming, too. “It’s incredible you made one so fast, I’m impressed. And I’m glad you’ve found something good to do.”

“Yeah, well,” Anakin said, collapsing on the couch, admiring the metalwork. “Turns out Artoo knew where there was a whole crate of spare parts for my old arm, so it wasn’t really that hard. It needs some tuning, but it still works better than that piece of poodoo I had before.” At that, Obi-Wan chuckled, and Anakin looked up. “What is it?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Sorry, you just...sounded like your old self again.”

Anakin’s face fell before he even knew what had happened, and he knew Obi-Wan noticed. He looked away, and pressed his eyes shut. After a long silence, he said coldly, “You know, if you’re waiting for the old me to come out of nowhere with all of his memories of you, that’s not going to happen. Whoever you knew is gone.”

Obi-Wan paled, and leaned forward in his seat. “I’m sorry, Anakin, I shouldn’t have said that –”

“But you did,” Anakin snapped. He stood up. “Because that’s how you really feel.”

Obi-Wan stood, too. “Anakin, I really am sorry. I’m still coming to terms with this. It’s hard to know what to say and what not to. It’s not easy for me to adjust to this.”

“And you think it’s easy for me?”

“That’s not what I meant –”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant!” Anakin said, his new hand clenching hard into a fist. Somewhere inside him, a boiling pot of anger that he hadn’t known was there spilled over. “You think you had it hard this year? You and Padmé think a few ‘sorry’s are gonna cut it? I’m the one who had my own life sucked out of me! I don’t even know what the hell the truth is, let alone who I can trust! Well guess what? I don’t trust _anyone._ Not the Jedi, and sure as hell not you.”

“Anakin –”

Too late. Anakin stormed past him and Forced open his bedroom door before Obi-Wan could say another word. Two minutes later, he sat on his bed and let his face fall into his hands, feeling like the stupidest idiot in the galaxy.

What had he even gotten angry about in the first place? He had honestly already forgotten. But, hey, that wasn’t new, because his brain couldn’t seem to decide which memories were worth saving and which weren’t, and apparently this one didn’t fit the criteria. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought there was some microorganism in his head choosing what to save and what to delete. But the truth was, there was no microorganism, no secretive parasitic being feeding on him. His body and all his organs just didn’t want to work correctly. That was it. He was broken.

Ugh. He hated himself so much.

* * *

 

 

**PART II: CRASH AND BURN**

 

“Anakin?” a voice was saying. “Can you hear me?”

His body hurt. His head, his arms and legs, his tongue, everything else. Something was hard under him, probably the ground, and he was curled up on his side. His head rested on something soft. A hand ran through his hair, brushing it out of his face.

“It’s all right, Anakin. You’re safe, it’s all right.”

He tried to respond, but no sound came out and he wasn’t even sure those words made sense to begin with so instead he shifted his head and blinked open his eyes. Nothing was clear. There was a person next to him, and silver around the room, silver so he must be...back on that planet...the one with...but no, because wasn’t he not there anymore? Where...?

“Anakin, it’s all right. You’re home. It’s okay.”

Home? He shifted again, bringing his hand up to his eyes – it was made of metal – wait he could move his hand? Normally his hands were still bolted to the chair when he came to.... Wait, home?

“You’re in the Jedi Temple, Anakin. In our apartment. You just had a seizure.”

Huh...?

“It’s Obi-Wan, remember? Everything is all right, Anakin.”

Whoever was talking was rubbing his arm, the one that wasn’t made of metal. With their other hand, they brushed his hair out of his face again and then wiped something off his cheek with a towel. No, he didn’t remember. Wait, yes he did. Obi-Wan. Yes, he knew who Obi-Wan was. The Jedi. And the person leaning over him now. The person running their fingers through his hair. And he was surprised, because he had thought until now that when people touched him it was either to jab him with hypos or to hurt him, but now, this made him feel, like....

“It’s going to be all right, Anakin. I’m here.”

Something in the sound of Obi-Wan’s voice made Anakin think that yes, that was true. Made him think that, maybe it was okay that he was lying immobile on the floor, because Obi-Wan was here, and...

“I’m going to keep you safe. I promise.”

* * *

 

Days blurred into nights, and suddenly Anakin couldn’t keep track of how long he had been here any more. He didn’t know how long ago the seizure had been, but he still didn’t feel quite...right. This always happened, he recalled, but he’d always had to ignore it to avoid being hurt again. Now, the only distractions were those he could find for himself. For a few days, he kept toying with machines, fixing up droids he must have never had a chance to finish before, anything to keep his mind and body occupied. He cleaned up Artoo, repaired some of his wiring, replaced some outdated appendages, upgraded his systems. When that was done, he went through all his crates and then went through them again and still couldn’t find any projects that interested him, so instead he resigned to collapse on his bed and do nothing at all.

Through the blinds on his window, murky yellow sunlight faded and returned, then faded and returned, as clouds moved in front of the sun. His whole body felt so heavy, and seemed to melt right down into the mattress. He pulled the blankets around him and curled up to watch the sunlight shift.

Why did he feel so sad? So empty? He had been feeling good a few days ago. And not just that, now he felt so _off._ Sort of detached from the world around him, sort of like if he just lied here in bed for the rest of eternity, the universe would keep spinning and no one would ever notice that he was no longer a part of it.

Sleepy, he closed his eyes, and decided he would save any more thinking for later.

* * *

 

Lying on the couch in the suite’s living space, Anakin idled around on his datapad. The thing that Obi-Wan had said in Padmé’s apartment about Jedi not having attachments had belatedly struck him as sort of, um, _odd_ – because, well, attachment meant affection, which was tied to friendship, so did that mean the Jedi couldn’t have friends? Couldn’t feel fondness for anyone else? Or, not that they physically couldn’t, but that they weren’t allowed to? Because honestly, that was, firstly, the stupidest thing Anakin had ever heard and secondly, pretty contradictory to the _please come home Anakin we’re your friends we care about you_ case that they had made to Vader all those weeks ago. It just didn’t add up. Anakin hadn’t had anyone who acted remotely kindly to him in the last year of his life, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t recognize friendship when it was directed at him.

So here he was, researching the Jedi Order on his datapad like a child at school, and the first thing he found was just that – _there is no emotion, there is peace. No ignorance, but knowledge. No passion, but serenity. No chaos, but harmony. There is no death, there is the Force._

Then it got more complicated. There were rules upon rules upon rules, and startlingly insufficient explanation for any of it, as if they thought it was self-explanatory. And the one that probably bothered him the most, no one admitted into the Order over the age of three. In other words, no one allowed to enter at an age when they would be able to make a choice for themselves. Children committed to something without being asked, or without being able to understand the implications. Unknowing that they would be trained to grow up and die in a war.

It wasn’t like that, Obi-Wan tried to tell him. The Jedi were raised to be compassionate, he said, their only goal being to do good and keep the galaxy safe, and the cost of not growing up with their families was worth the reward of helping so many lives.

“Besides,” he added, “Jedi are free to leave the Order if they wish. Some take extended leaves and almost all of them come back of their own volition. It isn’t servitude by any means, and I don’t know of any Jedi who would say that it was.”

_Well I would,_ Anakin thought, and he supposed that was the main reason he would never be a Jedi again.

* * *

 

He was pretty sure that the mornings were getting grayer, like every time he woke up everything just seemed a little less bright. Like there was less of a reason to eat, or to shower, or to get out of bed at all. He remembered three – four? – weeks ago when his bed had been so plush it was uncomfortable. Now, it was the most divine thing in his life.

He rolled over, and looked at the chrono sitting on a box beside his bed. Thirteen hundred hours. He’d slept in too late. He sighed, and closed his eyes again. Sank back into his pillow. Time passed, though he didn’t know how much. He opened his eyes again. Fourteen thirty hours. _Ugh_ , he thought. Get _up_.

He started to sit up. Stretched his aching joints. Ran a hand through his hair. Thought about standing up. Decided to lie down again, instead.

This was probably not good, he knew, but he didn’t really feel like doing anything about it right now. Maybe tomorrow. Probably not, though, because tomorrow was just going to be even grayer, and the day after that, and the day after that....

* * *

 

“Listen,” Obi-Wan had said earlier, “There’s nothing wrong with being mentally ill. It’s just that, an illness, not a weakness, and after everything you’ve been through it’s perfectly understandable that you would be traumatized and have depression.”

But Obi-Wan was wrong. He was so wrong. Anakin wasn’t depressed. He wasn’t. Because how long ago had it been that he had been feeling great? When he had made his arm and met Padmé and toured the temple and was able to eat? He didn’t remember, but probably not long. He wasn’t depressed. He was just stupid, lazy, ungrateful, he was so ungrateful, he was weak and pathetic and _stupid_. That didn’t equate with depression.

Except, well...there _was_ the fact that he was starting to cry, like, really easily. If the saying was ‘at the drop of a hat,’ for him it was more like the drop of a hydrospanner or, say, a spoon. Or at the ache of his head, or a look in the mirror at his sunken eyes and scarred skin and all the other things that reminded him that he’d been the property of others his entire life. Or after the flashbacks, at the memories of death and pain and murder and blood that plagued him every day and every night. Hell, he was crying right now, sitting on his bed trying to convince himself that he wasn’t sick in the head.

Wiping his eyes, curling on top of the bed once again, he reached under his pillow and took hold of the kyber crystal he’d stolen from Tyranus’s palace, which in turn he assumed been stolen from _him_ in the first place. The soft blue glow it emitted filled the room, and the gentle hum of it in the Force calmed him as he was sure nothing else could.

“Artoo,” he said quietly, and the droid spun its dome in acknowledgement. “Can you play that audio track? The ocean one?” Artoo beeped an affirmative tone. The sound of waves, of seabirds calling, reminded him of his mother. They may have hailed from the desert, but he thought, even though he barely remembered her, that she would have loved the ocean.

He wished she was here so bad.

* * *

 

_the wind was so cold, it seemed to penetrate his entire body as he knelt there, shaking shaking shaking, he was three seconds from throwing up but they didn’t know that, these three people, they knew him but he didn’t know them_

_“If you come with us, they won’t be able to hurt you anymore....”_

_his limbs were so cold they were all gonna fall off, his ears and nose were burning like they were on fire, how can the cold make you feel like you’re burning that doesn’t make any_ sense

_“We can keep you safe...it’s going to be okay from now on, Ani...we’re here now....”_

_his head his head his head hurt so bad it was going to kill him_

_“You deserve better than this...we owe you....”_

_in fact he hoped it would because nothing sounded better than dying right now_

Vader opened his eyes, jerked back into consciousness. Without a second’s delay, he reached for his lightsaber – it wasn’t there – but he had to kill them because that was his mission and if he didn’t Sidious would –

Oh. Oh, it was okay. Right, everything was okay. Home, he was home. If he could call this home. On the balcony outside, where he had come hoping the chilly afternoon breeze would shock his system into being awake enough that he could pretend he was actually somewhat in control of his life. Well, clearly that had failed, just like everything else he did. Ha. What a surprise.

* * *

 

One day Ahsoka dropped in, lounging next to him on the couch, playing with something on her datapad while he stared lazily at the holoscreen. He liked Ahsoka. He could tell that she was uncomfortable around him a lot of the time – he was sure he would be, too, in her situation – but she still came here to hang out, never trying to ask him anything personal, just if he was feeling okay or if he wanted a glass of water or something. She didn’t press him like Obi-Wan did sometimes; rather, she was just content to pretend to watch some silly HoloNet movie with him. This one was a cartoon, about anthropomorphic animals living in a starship, flying around helping those in need. Nothing complicated, nothing intense. And yeah, okay, maybe it was meant for kids, but that didn’t mean adults with or without head injuries couldn’t enjoy it, too.

The film was just getting to a part where a moof and a tooka had to stop their ship’s hyperdrive from blowing when Anakin noticed that everything around him suddenly seemed kind of fuzzy, there was this really weird, looming feeling like something was going to happen, he didn’t know what but he turned to Ahsoka and tried to say, “Do you feel that?” but her brow markings just looked confused and for some reason her words in response just sounded garbled.... He tried to stand up but his knees were locked in place and he felt like he was sort of being pressed back into the couch by some invisible force.... He closed his eyes tight to try to concentrate on whatever was happening but all he really knew was that his hands seemed to be twitching of their own accord....

He heard a voice, saying something like _Master?! Obi-Wan get in here now –_

And the next thing he really knew was that he was curled up against a pillow somewhere, the girl whose name he thought was Ahs...Ash...something was gone and a man with a reddish beard was kneeling next to him, checking his pulse, telling him that everything was okay....

* * *

 

“Anakin....”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Anakin snapped at Obi-Wan, involuntarily curling his metal hand into a fist. “And I told you, the answer is no.”

“You know, I’m not _trying_ to make you uncomfortable,” Obi-Wan said, pleading with his hands but Anakin ignored that part. “It’s just that you’ve been through so much, and I at least would sleep better knowing that you’re not medically in danger.”

“I can handle everything that’s wrong with me,” Anakin said, not looking at him. “I’ve been handling it for months. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

“But you shouldn’t have to _handle_ anything!” Obi-Wan retorted, exasperated. “Don’t you want to try to relieve your migraines? Or stop the seizures?”

“I never asked for you to look after me through those! You can stop any time you want, I would get it!”

“You –” Obi-Wan started, but cut himself short. He took a deep breath and tried again. “The Jedi healers and doctors are not like the ones who tortured you. They don’t even know about you being Vader. They would have no grudge, no reason or desire to do anything that would harm you.”

A metal hand slammed against the kitchen table and Anakin pushed himself out of his chair. Obi-Wan didn’t flinch once. “I just can’t, okay?! I’ve told you a hundred times, I can’t, so just _stop asking!”_ Then, he stormed around the table, past Obi-Wan, down the hall and into his room.

Obi-Wan didn’t know. He could _never_ know. If he had been through _ten days_ of what Anakin had been through – the feed of electricity, the needles, the hypos, the IVs and feeding tubes and electrodes, the gloved fingers checking for fractures, forcing part of a metal machine over his head, strapping him down with metal restraints that rubbed his skin raw, never once talking to him or telling him what they were going to do or why, touching touching touching. Obi-Wan _didn’t know._ Didn’t know the panic or the fear or the feeling of not even being human. The feeling of being owned by another living thing. But Anakin did. And he always had.

He glanced at the podracing poster on the wall. Remembered, for the thousandth time, Obi-Wan’s words: _Your mother...she died_. _Almost three years ago._

Tears welled up in his eyes again, but instead of surrendering to them this time he kicked his bed and punched the wall and threw a Harris wrench at the window and a bunch of other tools and then, when his metal hand came to rest on the handle of a utility knife, he stopped. Picked it up. Held it in his hand, and looked at it. Flicked up the sharpest blade of the bunch. Bit his lip, then walked shakily into the ‘fresher and sat on the edge of the tub, never taking his eyes off the blade.

Just a few cuts would do it, really. Even one would help. On the soft flesh of his forearm...or on his side, where he had gouged out the chip the Sith had given him...or on his thigh...just a few cuts, enough to bleed but not too deep.... It would help, he didn’t know how but he knew it would, a physical excuse not to think about how much it hurt in his chest, his heart, his whole body, who _ever_ knew that feelings could hurt this much.... He closed his eyes, and imagined the blood running down his wrist and onto the floor.... Opened them again and pulled his sleeve up to his elbow, holding the knife to his skin but not cutting, not yet....

If he did it, he would never be able to hold a utility knife in his hand again without thinking about cutting himself until he bled. If he did it, he would be adding more scars to the ones that had been given to him by those that had stolen his body for themselves. If he did it, it would always be a physical reminder of Sidious, and Tyranus, and Serenno, and everyone he had killed. If he did it, and if Obi-Wan and Ahsoka and Padmé found out, they would be so, so upset...

He let the tears fall now, letting the knife slip through his metal fingers onto the ‘fresher floor. He laced his fingers through his hair and tugged, enough to hurt but not to pull any out, still thinking about the image of cuts down his arm and blood all over his skin, he didn’t want to do it but he also didn’t want to feel like this any more, just like how he didn’t want to kill himself but he didn’t want to live this life anymore....

Anakin took a deep breath. Then another, and another. Sniffled, wiped the tears off his cheeks, kicked the knife across the floor, then turned on the shower and hoped that when it was over everything wouldn’t hurt as much.

(It still did.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who wants more Anakin and Padmé stuff, you’ll have to wait a few chapters, though I am happy to say that next chapter is all about Padmé, and I’m even happier to say that it’s super fluffy and cute and if you don’t like fluff then too bad.
> 
> I’m pretty sure chapter 19 is done so I hope to have that up in maybe two weeks. Regardless, I thank you all for reading and for your patience and I hope you’re doing well. And a big thanks as ever to my reviewers!!! Your comments on last chapter got me through a rough month!
> 
> Finally, I just want to sort of offer an explanation as to why this fic is the way that it is. I realized recently that writing this fic for me has been sort of a coping and comforting mechanism to keep me through a difficult time in my life. I think the horrible suffering I’ve put the characters through was sort of an exaggerated representation of my own depression and anxiety stuff (which is much better than it was a few months ago, for anyone concerned), and so a lot of what you’re reading is actually quite personal to me. And I’m happy to share it! So, if you’re tired of all the whump or think the drama was a little drawn out, that’s fine, but strangely it’s helped me so I’m not sorry. Writing everything up til this point has been an exercise in self-healing just as much as it’s a way for me to explore the relationships between these characters. Improving my writing skills was just a bonus. So anyway, thanks for sticking with me through everything and stay tuned!


	19. The Queen II

“I can be the queen you need me to be  
This is my chance to be the dance, I’ve dreamed it’s happening  
I can be the queen.”  
-“The Queen” by Lady Gaga

In the early afternoon, Padmé stood amongst a group of her friends in the Supreme Chancellor’s public office, a room drenched in ornate red decoration with a backdrop of a wall-sized window. Outside, the thousands of chrome and silver skyscrapers stretched on into a bluish infinity. Much closer, Palpatine sat in his high-backed chair and observed them from his high-backed chair.

The Senate’s vote had been weeks ago, but in typical bureaucratic fashion it was only now that something was finally going to be _done_ about it. As used as she was to Coruscant bureaucracy, every day they waited was another thousand clones being killed on twenty distant planets, a hundred thousand more displaced civilians travelling to refugee camps that didn’t have enough supplies to house and feed them, and a million more credits down the drain.

“I don’t have to tell any of you how important this opportunity is for us,” Palpatine was saying. “For years you have all been striving for a peaceful solution to the Clone War and I am beginning to think we may actually make it there.”

Padmé glanced at Bail Organa, who said, “Have you decided who you will be appointing to the new committee?”

Palpatine steepled his fingers together in front of him. “That is why I called all of you here, of course. I have already carefully selected a few other members from military ranks and other government departments, but I thought you may appreciate the opportunity to choose from amongst yourselves.”

Padmé raised her eyebrows in surprise. It was an incredible opportunity, but she had to wonder – what was in it for him? She said, “Thank you, Chancellor, on behalf of all of us. It is an honor to have your trust.”

The old man behind the desk smiled at her. “Why of course, my dear. I’m confident that this will prove to be a good choice.” To the entire group, he added, “I must have your decision within the next two days.”

They bowed graciously, and on their way out Padmé noticed the Chancellor give her a familiar look and she waved Bail to go on without her. When the other senators were gone she said, “I’m so relieved we may finally be able to end this horrible war.”

He offered her a kindly old smile, like the ones he used to give when he was the Senator and she his queen. “I, too, will be most glad to have the responsibilities taken off my shoulders. This war has taken its toll on all of us.”

“How have you been feeling, anyway, Chancellor?”

“The respite did me well,” he admitted, allowing himself to look old and slightly vulnerable to her as he leaned back in his chair. “I was still working to a degree, of course, but the vibrant colors of Naboo always help me rest. I feel more refreshed than I have in years. I am glad to be back, of course.”

“Of course,” Padmé said, leaning an elbow on the armrest of her chair. “The last year hasn’t been easy for me, either, but things are starting to look up.”

“Ah, yes,” Palpatine said, leaning forward again. He looked as though suddenly he had found a youthful energy. “I heard something – a rumor, if you will, and I was wondering if you might know whether it’s true. I heard that Anakin is still alive.”

For some reason, Padmé felt unexpectedly uneasy. She hadn’t heard a rumor about Ani’s return being spread anywhere, and the last thing Anakin needed was unnecessary attention. Still, it shouldn’t be that surprising; Anakin was a war hero, after all, beloved by the Republic and renowned in skill. It made sense that rumors of his return would make their way to someone as well-informed as Palpatine.

Try as she might, she couldn’t suppress a sloppy smile. “Yes,” she admitted, a little more breathlessly than she intended. “I spent a short amount of time with him some days ago, and he looks to be recovering well.”

To his credit, Palpatine looked as if a weight had been taken off his shoulders. “That is such a relief,” he said. “I do hope one of these days he’ll be able to see me.”

Padmé frowned. “Oh, there is one thing, he – something happened to him, we’re not sure what, but he doesn’t have any of his memories from before the Separatists captured him.”

Palpatine looked crestfallen. “It must have been a terrible ordeal. You will keep me informed of his progress, won’t you, my dear? As I’m sure you know, he and I used to be very good friends.”

“Of course, Chancellor.”

The old man nodded for a moment, seeming to smile for himself as if reminiscing about days gone by. Then, he seemed to remember where he really was. “There is one more thing I wanted to say, Senator. I do hope that you will consider being on the committee.”

She looked up at him, surprised. “I thought we would elect Senator Organa. He’s more generally respected than I am, and I think he would be much better suited to –”

“Actually,” Palpatine interrupted her, “What I am suggesting would be appointing you _in addition_ to Senator Organa.”

Padmé blinked at him. “But as you’ve said, you’re looking for delegates with different perspectives. Surely there would be outcry if both Bail and I –”

“It’s actually quite simple,” Palpatine  said, spinning halfway in his chair to look out the window. “One of you – that would be Senator Organa – would be the representative of the Loyalist Committee, a faction that is known for supporting the office of the Supreme Chancellor.” He looked back at her. “You, on the other hand, would be vocally representing the anti-war movement. This would be your opportunity to say exactly what you’ve been saying on the Senate floor for years, but to a much smaller group of people who would be forced to give equal weight to your words as to all the rest, and finally take action either in favor of them or against them.”

She raised her hand to her mouth, and bit her lip. “But the anti-war movement is ridiculously unpopular. I mean, yes, I am a member of it, but no one in the government seems willing to take it seriously. I would be a laughing stock as ever.”

“I cannot deny that there would be many against you in this,” Palpatine said lightly, “But my dear, you must consider how many people you would truly be representing. You would be a voice for the _people_ , the same ones you are constantly advocating for. I cannot spare many seats on this committee to those without precise areas of knowledge and experience, but I know beyond a doubt that the former queen of Naboo would be the best representative for the trillions of common people who themselves are anti-war, but do not have the ability to let themselves be heard.” He leaned forward slightly. “Please, Padmé. You must consider it.”

Well, it wasn’t like she could just say _no._

“On the contrary, Chancellor,” she said, smiling, “I would be happy to accept right now.”

* * *

 

That night, she met with the rest of the Loyalists in Bail’s office and explained to them what Palpatine had suggested to her.

“It’s suspicious, if you ask me,” Giddean Danu said, looking grim. “How can we be sure he doesn’t have a hidden intention?”

“We can’t,” said Bail, taking up his drink from the table. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take advantage of this opportunity.”

“It may be the only chance we have to get our voices heard,” Padmé agreed. “I wasn’t hoping to be on the committee, but if he’s giving me the chance then I cannot say no.”

“Do we know who else he is electing to the committee?” Bana Breemu asked. “A Jedi, perhaps?”

Bail said, “He said military officials, but he didn’t elaborate.”

Padmé frowned. “Surely he must. The Jedi are the ones leading the fighting, it would only make sense that one should be given a seat.”

“But distrust in the Jedi has reached an all-time high,” Bana said. “We’ve all heard people talking. The public does not hold the Jedi to as high esteem as they one did.”

“I suppose we will have to wait and see,” Bail said, and they all nodded in reluctant agreement.

* * *

 

Then it was official. Twelve people, herself and Bail included, an unnamed other ten. It was the chance of a lifetime. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. It was, above all else, time to _end this war._

* * *

 

Except wasn’t going to work. How could it ever work? How could they ever even have a _chance_?

In her apartment, she paced. Up and down the veranda, up and down, up and down. Oh, boy. This could never work. Never, ever, ever. Peace, for the Republic? What a wild, crazy, unrealistic dream. It would never happen. It couldn’t. Not with _these_ constituents. No way.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps coming down the stairs and she jumped, and wheeled around. It was Moteé, who was gesturing in –

“Obi-Wan!” Padmé said, delighted, trying to pretend that she hadn’t completely forgot he was coming over, which she had. With a flutter in her heart, she glanced over his shoulder and saw – nothing. Her face had already fallen before she even realized it had happened. “Is it just you?”

A steely cold expression crossed his face and his gaze cut into her like a knife. She backtracked, “That’s not what I meant. I just...thought Anakin would be with you.”

Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, well, I couldn’t get him out of bed.”

“Well you could have called ahead and told me that,” she said casually, drumming her fingers on the top of her couch. “What if I had planned for two guests?”

His eyebrows raised. “Did you?”

“No, but I could have,” Padmé said coolly. Then, her shoulders slumped in resignation and she sighed. “I’m sorry. This committee thing is making me lose my mind. Oh, I didn’t tell you – I’m on it. The committee. The big one.” She took a deep breath that did nothing to calm her racing heart. “I’m on the committee. I am on the committee.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” Obi-Wan said, sitting slowly on the couch as if something was pressing him down. “Palpatine has not even been considerate enough to _mention_ it to the Jedi Council.”

“What?” Padmé exclaimed. “That’s absurd, the first meeting is tomorrow, he –” Realization hit her too slow. “He’s not giving the Jedi a seat? You’re leading the war effort, that’s – ridiculous, that’s –”

“I know,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “It’s worrying all of us, but...I suppose its out of our hands, now.”

Finally, she looked him over. Every time she saw him, he looked more and more ruffled. The trimming of his beard was less meticulous, the placement of his robe over his Jedi tunics less crisp and precise, his eyes sunken with dark circles framing them from below. Truthfully, she probably didn’t look much better, which was why she had taken to avoiding mirrors lately, but now she decided she would have to square her shoulders and do something about this.

“Obi-Wan,” she said, eyeing him carefully for a reaction. “I have something in mind that I believe will help us both cope with the many stressors in our lives.”

He laughed. “What are you talking about?”

She raised her chin like a well-to-do pubescent princess strutting through the Naboo Royal Palace, regal and not-quite-innocent and adamant that she get her way. “Today, Obi-Wan, we are going to the spa.”

* * *

 

And that was how, an hour later, Padmé found herself lounging at the spa with esteemed Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi. It was a familiar scene, here; the owner was one of the Naboo, a friend of her sister’s husband’s brother whom she’d met years and years ago. The soothing ambiance, the light trickling sound of water from the fountain nearby, the relaxing music, the fluffy white robe and the cushioned recliner...this was _exactly_ what she needed....

“You know,” she drawled quietly to Obi-Wan, “I think more Jedi could use spa days. They would be surprised.”

“Well, we have a very large room with natural foliage, a ceiling that emulates the sky outside, and real waterfalls, so I suppose this isn’t quite as appealing as that to most,” he said. _All right, Obi-Wan_ , she thought with a smile, _let yourself think that. You can’t fool me._

She leaned back into her recliner and closed her eyes, trying those breathing exercises Moteé had looked up for her. This was it. Her happy place. Spa days were what she lived for. It felt like she was floating, lying back on a cloud, nothing wrong in the universe. For a moment in her fantasy, no one was dying, everyone had enough food and water and a roof over their heads, the fighting had stopped, everyone lived in harmony. In her imagination, the war was over and Anakin was home with her, it was night and they lay together, she looked up at his adorable smile and his scrunched up nose, she felt his hair and laughed at his goofy jokes and rested her head on his shoulder and breathed with him, tracing patterns in the sheet across his chest....

Suddenly Padmé felt like crying, like she had all those months when she imagined the same thing. She was closer to that reality than ever before, but what if it never came true? What if he never came back to her? What if he did, and he was even worse than before, more possessive and obsessive, more jealous and angry and out of control? She bit her lip. He was so _frightening_ sometimes. She hated to admit it, but it was true. How could it not be? Like on Tatooine, after his mother died, when he....

She took another deep breath through the nose, like Moteé had said. Don’t think about it. This was spa day. Not think-about-Anakin-and-how-damaged-he-must-be day. Another deep breath. Was he all right? Right now, how did he feel? Sad? Afraid? Lonely? Numb? It was all her fault. What if he never wanted to see her again? She would deserve it. Another breath, and another. Don’t think about it. Just stop. Stop thinking about it. This is _spa day._

It was okay. It was fine. Ani would be fine. She was fine. Everything was fine. More breaths, and her heart stopped pounding against her ribcage. Everything was _fine._

Then, Obi-Wan said, very quietly, “He’ll be all right, Padmé. He just needs time.”

A second later, Padmé’s eyes snapped open and she found herself sitting up and pointing a finger at him. “Okay, you know what, Obi-Wan?” she said, and he looked at her with surprise. “Have you ever considered that maybe I don’t want you and other Force-sensitive people prying into my mind?”

He looked affronted. “I’m sorry. I just sensed that you were worried.”

She huffed. “Yes, I am worried. But that doesn’t mean I need your opinion on my _private_ thoughts, which are in my head and not yours, which means they’re for me and not for you.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw tightened, and he leaned back into his recliner. “I understand.”

Her fist clenched, and, trying to keep her voice as moderately hushed as possible because this was a spa and spas were for relaxation, she said, “No, you don’t. You’ve had the Force since you were born. There is no _way_ you could ever understand.”

He opened his eyes, and sighed, irritable. “Fine. You’re right. I can’t understand.” He drummed his fingers on the cushion. “I suppose I can’t understand anything, these days.”

“Oh, don’t make this about you.”

“It’s never about me,” he said contemptuously. “It’s never been about me in my life.”

At that, Padmé propped herself up on her elbows, looking him over. His posture was tense as stone, rigid and unrelaxed, immune to the ambiance and serenity that the finer Nubian spas had to offer. “Obi-Wan, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I am perfectly well, thank you.”

“Oh, come _on,_ ” Padmé said. “I’m not stupid. It’s about Anakin, isn’t it?”

He rolled his eyes. “Isn’t everything?”

Her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. Where was _this_ coming from? Knowing she might, maybe, regret this in a few minutes, she urged, “Go on.”

Obi-Wan looked at her, and released a sharp exhale. “Well it’s always up to me to fix him, isn’t it? It’s always up to me to fix _everything._ While he was a Padawan, I had to fix his anger issues, his impulsiveness, and his attachment to his mother. After Geonosis, his attachment to you. Well, none of those efforts ever worked, did they?”

She sat up completely, and turned towards him. “You had to _fix_ his attachment to me?”

“Don’t look at me like that, Padmé,” he said tiredly, waving it off. “He was a Padawan. He had committed himself to something greater, and giving into the dark side because he had fallen in love with a senator was hardly something the Council wanted for their Chosen One.” He said the last words with so much contempt Padmé almost could have reached into the air and held it in her hand.

Against her own temptation, refusing to have that argument here and now, she said, “What else?”

Briefly, he looked at her as if he knew how off-limits this was. “And now he’s worse off than he’s ever been, and I’m the only one who is in a position to do anything about it. And it isn’t his fault, of course, it’s....” He trailed off, looking away.

“Mine,” Padmé finished for him. “It’s mine.”

He looked extremely hesitant. He wouldn’t even meet her eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” she said in a whisper. She looked down, and her gaze came to a rest on her lap. “It shouldn’t be your job to fix him. I’m the one who gave him to the Sith, it should be mine.”

“It isn’t my _job_ to fix him. I volunteered for this, which is why I might like a little bit of sympathy. Besides,” Obi-Wan snapped suddenly, “He isn’t a tool or an object that needs to be repaired. In fact, I think it’s precisely that way of thinking that has him so...for lack of a better term, non-functioning.”

Honestly, Padmé wasn’t so sure. “Even so, I should have a bigger part in this. No matter how much time passes, it’s always going to be true that I’m the reason this happened to him.”

“Padmé,” Obi-Wan said, his voice drenched with exhaustion, “I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to remind you of this, but what the Sith did to Anakin was _not_ your fault.”

She thought about refuting that, reminding him that it explicitly _was_ her who had commed Dooku and said...she remembered her exact words. _I regret to inform you that the Republic will not be accepting your offer for prisoner exchange at this time._ She had sealed her fate with those words. She would never, ever forget.

Heavily, Padmé sighed, and leaned back into her recliner. Muscle by muscle, like the exercises she’d been through two dozen times, she relaxed. When that was done, she opened her eyes and turned to Obi-Wan. “Can I tell you about something my parents made me do when I was a child?” To Obi-Wan’s silence, she continued, “Whenever me and my sister would act up, as in, throwing a fit because we didn’t get our way, my mom or dad would hold up both their hands and say, ‘time out.’ Whenever they did that, we had to walk away from the situation for at least fifteen minutes, and if we came back and we were still angry about whatever it was in the first place, they would hear us out. I guess the point was, during that time we could cool off and decide if what we had been angry about in the first place was really worth being angry about at all. And usually, it wasn’t.”

“I didn’t imagine you were ever the type to have fits,” Obi-Wan said casually. “I don’t suppose you brought that up during your royal election campaign.”

She swatted him on the arm. “Be serious,” she said playfully, then sobered. “The point, obviously, is that I think we should do that. You should take everything that’s on your mind recently, and I’ll take everything on mine, and we should think about it for a while. Then, when we’re done here, we can regroup and see if our cooler, more relaxed heads are still upset. Sound like a good idea?”

He chuckled, and shrugged lightly with his hands. “Why not.”

“Great,” she said, and half-forced herself to grin. She stood up, and stretched. “Then I think I’m going to go treat myself to a body wrap....”

* * *

 

Three hours, a massage, and a manipedi later, and not only did Padmé feel much more at peace, but she was also ready to tackle the monster of a conversation that they were about to have. They had agreed that going out for hard alcohol negated the point of a spa day, so instead they met in a dimly lit café and huddled around a table in the corner over two steaming cups of caf.

Fixing her hair as her drink cooled, Padmé leaned back and said, “You know what, Obi-Wan? We should just leave, you and I. After this. Let’s just go. Get in a ship and fly away. As far across the galaxy as we can go, or maybe to another one.”

He laughed, his posture notably more relaxed than it had been before he had left for the sauna room. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m just so _tired,_ ” Padmé said emphatically. “Of the war, of these people, of working. Aren’t you?”

He nodded, watching the cream in his caf melt in a swirl of milky happiness. “If you could call what I’m doing work, then yes, quite so.” ~~~~

She knew what that meant without having to ask. Taking a sip of her caf, she said, “Have you found out they did to Anakin?”

Obi-Wan just shook his head mournfully. “I’ve been too afraid to ask. I want him to come to me when he’s ready, but I’m not sure it will ever happen.”

“Well if it was bad enough to make him fight so hard to get away....”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said. He suddenly looked nervous. “I didn’t tell you. On our way home, he told me...” He leaned in, hushing his voice. “Padmé, he remembers his mother.”

“Oh,” she said. Then, her eyes widened and her mouth gaped open. “ _Oh._ ”

“And,” he added, “I had to tell him. About...what happened.”

On cue, she remembered: _And I slaughtered them like animals!_ But that wasn’t what Obi-Wan was talking about. Obi-Wan didn’t know about that, and Padmé hoped beyond all hope that Anakin didn’t, either.

Trying to think of something, anything, to say, she whispered, “How did that go?”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. The look on his face said it all for him. She ran a hand through her hair, which was loose and fell around her shoulders, so unlike the way she usually presented herself in public. Oh, Anakin. Oh her poor, poor darling, he shouldn’t have had to go through that the first time let alone a second....

Because Obi-Wan could probably read her thoughts anyway, she said aloud, “I should have done the trade.”

“Padmé,” Obi-Wan said, sympathetic. He reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. “I know it isn’t nearly this easy, but you need to get past this. Continuously blaming yourself like this is going to destroy you.”

A tear welled up in her eye, then another. “How can I not?”

Taking a measured breath, he said, “You know, I’ve been thinking about it. The Sith, and Grievous, and Ventress, they’ve all been killing Jedi for years. They could have taken any of the Jedi that they’ve killed hostage and done to them what Sidious and Dooku did to Anakin, but they didn’t.”

She looked at him, frowning. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I think the Sith wanted him all along,” Obi-Wan said in a very low, dark voice. “I think that bringing Anakin over to their side had been a goal of theirs for a long time before your decision. And it all fits together, too. He’s more sensitive to the Force than anyone else, he’s the one the Jedi call the Chosen One. Turning him to their side would crush the Jedi’s spirit, and using him as a weapon against us...I hate to even think about it, but it could have destroyed us.” He took a deep breath. “The Sith have been trying to take over the galaxy for thousands of years. Even if you had agreed to the trade, I think the Sith would have fought to their last breath to force Anakin into joining them, one way or another.”

She stared at him, numb shock coursing through her. If that was true...but even if it _was_ true she had still given him up...but if it would have happened either way, maybe it....

“We need to help him,” Padmé said faintly. “We need to keep him away from them _._ ”

“I would die before I let them have him back,” Obi-Wan promised, something dangerously close to passion shining in his eyes. Despite herself, she smiled. Because if Obi-Wan felt so _passionate_ about something, maybe....

“All right, Obi-Wan,” she said matter-of-factly. “I need you to answer one question, and answer it out loud because if you say it out loud then it’s real, and no one can say it isn’t.” He looked at her, waiting, and she continued, “Why are you doing this? Why are you giving your everything to helping Anakin recover from what the Sith did to him?”

Fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, he said, “Because I want him to be happy.”

“Why?” He stared at her incredulously, and she said, “I know it seems obvious, but you need to say it _out loud._ ”

Looking only moderately uncomfortable, he said, quiet but sincere, “Because I love him.”

Padmé beamed, and a grin took over her face. “Now you know what you need to do? You need to let him know that. Better yet, you need to _tell_ him that. It will mean so much to him, Obi-Wan.”

Then, he surprised her by saying, “I know.” He rubbed his eyes. “I know it will. But...well, he’s not exactly on the road to getting any better. In fact, he’s getting worse by the day.”

“Can’t you take him to see a doctor or a therapist or something?”

“He keeps refusing,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head erratically. “Something about the mere _idea_ of seeing a doctor terrifies him to his core. I don’t know what to do.”

She drummed her fingers on the table, thinking. “What about a medical droid? He could use mine.”

He put a hand up to his beard. “That...might work, actually,” he said, thoughtful. “He does still like droids, I’ve noticed. I’ll ask him.”

Padmé was quite aware that the sloppy grin plastered on her face must have made her look like a lovestruck fool, mostly because she could see herself in the window’s reflection over Obi-Wan’s shoulder – but also because, well, she _was_ a lovestruck fool, and any chance at seeing Anakin again, no matter what state he was in, made her heart flutter like a little girl with her first crush.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan’s commlink began to chime. Without a moment’s hesitation, he activated it.

_“Master, are you coming home any time soon?”_ With a glance, Padmé could see in Obi-Wan’s eyes the same thing that she felt: suddenly, the weight of reality came crashing down as if it had been hanging above their heads and someone cut the wire. Even over the comm, Ahsoka sounded so _tired_.

Softly, Obi-Wan said, “Yes, Ahsoka. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how long it’s been. I’m out with Padmé, but we’ll go back to her apartment now and I’ll be there soon.”

_“Okay,”_ was the dreary response, and the transmission ended with a beep.

* * *

 

They went back, and at the base of Padmé’s apartment building she enveloped Obi-Wan in a quick hug before letting him go. “Obi-Wan,” she said quietly, taking his hand in hers. “I just want to say that I think you’re really strong for doing this. I can’t imagine what it must be like to take care of someone the way you are of Anakin, but...I know that one day it’s really going to pay off, if only because you’re so good for him.”

He looked down at their hands, contemplating. “The only reward I need is being able to see him every day,” he said slowly. “It’s been so long since I’ve had that.” For a long moment, his eyes clouded with something that, if Padmé had to admit it (and she gladly would) made her heart warm up like a loaf of sweet bread fresh from an oven. Fine, maybe she was still thinking about those pastries from the café, but no matter how amazing those had been, seeing Obi-Wan open up to her was infinitely more heartwarming.

A second later, he seemed to snap out of it and looked away from her, but not before she saw the light pink flush of his cheeks. “Anyway, good – good luck with your meeting, Senator.”

Padmé couldn’t help the giggle that shook her whole body. “Thank you, Master Kenobi.”

* * *

 

When Padmé woke up the next morning she rolled onto her back and stretched her arms above her head, blinking in the light of the morning. She had slept soundly, peacefully, and she was  ready for the day ahead. Slowly, she got up, fingered tangles out of her curls, smoothed her airy, revealing nightgown, and left the bedroom to greet her handmaidens.

When they saw her, Dormé raised her eyebrow and smirked. “Someone feels good this morning.”

“What’s the occasion?” Moteé asked playfully.

Padmé grinned. “I feel great, my husband is alive, and I’m about to negotiate peace for the entire galaxy. That’s the occasion. And I can’t do it without you girls.” She walked over and took Ellé and Moteé’s hands in hers. “I need you to make me look my best.”

The girls emitted a delighted noise and hurried into her closet, pulling out what they knew was one of Padmé’s favorite outfits, her knee-length deep-blue layered velvet gown and silver Shiraya-inspired crescent moon headpiece. It was a deceiving outfit; it looked heavy, but really it was light, preciously soft and _very_ pretty. Once that was on, Moteé did Padmé’s hair while Ellé took care of makeup, and _heavens_ , was Ellé _good._ The girl was an artist in her own right. Padmé sincerely hoped that if she ever decided to quit her job as handmaiden, she would enter some Nubian art academy. She was just that talented.

Not that Padmé had been made up to look like the queen she had always been, with the white face paint and the scar of remembrance on her lower lip. Rather, Ellé’s talent was in subtlety, contouring and highlighting, somehow seeing deep into her subject’s soul and making Padmé look as confident and beautiful as she felt. Maybe her handmaiden was secretly Force-sensitive. Now there was a funny thought – Jedi giving up sacrificing themselves for the Republic to become makeup artists instead.

Note to self: next spa day, bring Ahsoka and the girls.

* * *

 

The first meeting of what had been officially named the Senate Committee for Peace Negotiations was to take place in the Senate Building, in a meeting room with a slightly curved silver table and a dozen chairs on either side. Padmé entered the conference room with her head held high, taking a seat on the opposite side of Bail, two seats down from him. As they had discussed, they avoided each others eyes; rumor of a Loyalist conspiracy would not suit them well if they were going to do what needed to be done.

The room filled up quickly. Padmé kept her gaze low, pretending to study her datapad, though her eyes flicked to those with whom she would be negotiating. Some were senators; there was Lott Dod, Neimoidian of the Trade Federation and known affiliate of Nute Gunray; Nix Card, Muun and conniving representative of the Banking Clan; Halle Burtoni, ruthless Kaminoan who was always calling for the creation of more troops. There were other government officials, some she recognized and some she didn’t but all doubtlessly significant to the operation of the Republic as a united entity. At the end of the table, sitting with his chin high as though he were better than everyone else, was a military officer with a thin face and grey hair. Padmé wasn’t sure if any others felt the same way, but the lack of a Jedi or clone representative was poignant.

The chronometer on the wall hit eleven hundred hours and barely a moment later, the thin-faced naval officer turned his head slightly and addressed them. “I suppose we should begin, shall we? First, I would like to point out that not all of us whom the Chancellor have chosen for this committee believe that peace between the Republic and the Confederacy can successfully be achieved. Throughout the war, it has been consistently demonstrated that the only language the Separatists seem to understand is violence, and I highly doubt that any terms this committee drafts, no matter how all-inclusive, will be accepted by the leaders of the Separatist Parliament.”

Well, that certainly was a way to begin. In the corner of her eye, Padmé saw Bail lean forward. “Not all in the Confederacy see this war from a military perspective, ah....”

“Admiral,” the officer offered with an aristocratic flair. “Wilhuff Tarkin.”

Bail nodded in acknowledgement. “Senator Bail Organa, Alderaan. Admiral, despite the ban on communications between those on Separatist and Republic planets, it is clear from what we have heard of the Confederate Senate in the past that there _are_ some who do believe that peace can be attained.”

“I don’t suppose you have forgotten the attack by the Separatists on the Senate, Senator Organa?” Lott Dod questioned. “It was only a year and several months ago. Do you not agree that a loss of lives makes more of a statement than words in a Senate session?”

Padmé took her chance while she had it. “An attack by a small group of militant Separatists does not accurately reflect the attitude of many in the Confederate Senate,” she said. “The organization of the Confederacy as a whole was originally passive, and I do not believe that attempts to make a peaceful arrangement with them are futile.”

“You are an idealist, Senator Amidala,” Nix Card drawled. “You exist in a daydream. You operate out of a false perception of how this galaxy operates, whereas the rest of us deal with reality.”

She squared her shoulders. She would not be ganged up on. “Representative Card, if you and others do not believe that peace is a realistic goal, then perhaps you are on the wrong committee.”

The Muun pointed a long finger at her. “I will not be instructed by the likes of –”

“Senators, please,” Bail interjected. “We have all been put on this committee for the same purpose, and if we wish to make good use of our allotted time, then we should begin our work.”

“Indeed,” Admiral Tarkin said with a raised eyebrow. “As we all know, the function of this body is to draft terms of negotiation to propose the Separatists. First, we should suggest where this proposed meeting would take place....”

* * *

 

Back home, at night, Padmé wanted to cry. Wait, actually, she _was_ crying. She didn’t know exactly why, but in the mirror she looked _awful_ , tears down her face, skin flushed, eyes red.

This was a stupid reaction, she knew, tears just because a few people had tried to shoot down her points all meeting long. She was better than this. No one in that committee had any more power than she and Bail did together. They were a force to be reckoned with. They were going to bring peace to this galaxy if it was the last thing they did.

But...there was Tarkin, esteemed military admiral in the navy, and Dod, Nute Gunray’s pawn, and Gunray was controlled by Dooku who would fight tooth and nail until this galaxy shattered into a hundred pieces so the Sith could swoop in and take over and this was _hopeless...._

No. _No. Stop feeling like this._ It wasn’t that easy, of course it wasn’t, but damn it, she was a queen. Queens don’t cry over people trying to beat them down with words. Padmé wiped the tears off her cheeks and stared her reflection in the eye. She took a deep breath. Put on her queen face, her strong, neutral expression with that sideways stare that she liked to imagine sent chills down her enemies’ spines.

She would end this war.

Because she was Queen Amidala of the Naboo, and she had the power to get things done.

* * *

 

The next day she spent in and out of meetings, shoving lunch down her throat, reapplying gloss to her lips, a holoconference with Queen Neeyutnee and Naboo officials, then more meetings. At home, finally, she received a message, relayed by Captain Typho – that unless it was inconvenient, Obi-Wan and Anakin would be coming by at twenty-one hundred later that evening for ‘matters previously discussed’. With her heart suddenly pounding in her chest, she showered and re-did her makeup, ate again, and tidied up the apartment until, right on time except actually half an hour late, her three dearest Jedi crossed the threshold into her apartment.

And Obi-Wan sure hadn’t exaggerated. Anakin looked _awful_ – his hair was messier beyond his usual level, his face sunken, his incomplete Jedi outfit looser than it should be. He didn’t look her in the eye once.

As promised, she led them to the med droid and switched it on. It raised its head, looked around, and said, “Hello, I am MDRP-2187. How might I be of service?”

“A basic medical exam today, please,” Padmé answered, making sure all her medical supplies were in stock and operational. Truthfully, she didn’t really _need_ any of this equipment, but the Naboo Royal Housing Department which had put together her apartment had generously and overprotectively insisted she have immediate supplies in case there was an emergency....

“Certainly,” the droid said, turning around. “Please give me a few minutes to prepare. Will the patient please sit on the examining table and remove your shirt so that I may examine your vital signs?”

Swallowing, Anakin shakily hoisted himself onto the table. He raised his hands to his belt to undo the tunics but then froze, and he turned his head towards the rest of them without looking anyone in the eye. “You can wait outside.”

Obediently, Ahsoka and Padmé backed out, and Padmé heard Obi-Wan say, softly, “Let me know if you need me.”

The door closed behind them, and they waited in the plush chairs in the antechamber. Obi-Wan seemed to melt into his, leaning back into it and releasing a deep breath. He looked nothing short of relieved.

Ahsoka, meanwhile, was fiddling with the material of her armchair. She looked up at Padmé and said, “So, how is the Senate committee thing?”

Padmé sighed. “We’ve only had one meeting and already I can tell how hard it’ll be to talk some sense into these people. Halle Burtoni, Lott Dod, and this military admiral named Tarkin –”

“You’re working with that guy _?_ ” Ahsoka said, wrinkling her nose. “I _hate_ that guy! Or, um – not hate, because you know, Jedi don’t hate people, but – let’s be honest, I hate that guy. Sorry, Master.”

Obi-Wan managed a weak smile. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

They fell into silence. Outside, the city stretched for miles, manifesting through the window as a million lights against a black backdrop. Inside – well, Padmé didn’t have the Force, but she could still almost reach out and touch the tension in the room. She wondered what had been going on between the three of them back at the temple, but she didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask. Somehow, even though it was the health and wellbeing of her married partner at stake, it just didn’t feel like her place.

The exam didn’t take long, and soon enough the door opened and the droid was saying, “Your test results will be in tomorrow. Thank you for your patience, and have a nice evening.”

“Thanks,” Anakin said quietly, and then he looked at Obi-Wan, who was suddenly upright and expectant in his chair. “All good.”

Obi-Wan asked, “Did you tell it about the migraines?”

Anakin looked at the floor. “Yeah, it’s all fine.”

Padmé watched Obi-Wan shut his eyes tight for a moment and steady himself. “Did it recommend that you –”

“I said it’s fine,” Anakin snapped. “Can we just go?”

“Anakin –”

But Anakin just rolled his eyes and stormed away. Obi-Wan sighed, and rigidly got up to follow him without looking at anyone else. Ahsoka hesitantly made to follow them, glancing at Padmé. She sputtered, “Sorry – can I comm you tomorrow night?” Padmé nodded, pulled her into a quick hug, and watched Ahsoka bound off with a final wave of goodbye. Then, she fell back into her chair and stared at the caf table, numb. Well, that boy had depression if she’d ever seen it, and she knew a little too well how that felt. Oh, Ani....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to all the people who have commented on my fic recently, especially RayeReil on last chapter! I'm honored to have such kind readers and I'm very glad that my fic has helped some of you feel better in some way!
> 
> The next chapter is Ahsoka POV, but I'm not sure when it will be up because I'm totally unmotivated and can't seem to make any good words come out. Believe me, it sucks as much for me as it does for you!!! I hope to see you whenever I do post it!! Bye for now!!!!


	20. Snips

“And now he’s been here for a few weeks but it just doesn’t seem like anything’s getting better. I don’t know what to do. None of us do.”

The small blue holographic figure of a helmetless Captain Rex shook his head in disbelief. “I shouldn’t be so surprised. ‘Spose if anyone could survive the Separatists for a year, it’d be General Skywalker. You’d think word would have gotten out by now, though. And it’s been _weeks?_ ” Rex let out a whistle. “Guess Jedi secrets don’t leak, huh.”

“It’s ‘cause he hasn’t left this apartment in ages,” she said, curving her spine where she sat and dropping her head into her hands. “I don’t know what to do. We’re all miserable.”

“How ‘bout a trip to see the old troops, eh? We’ll be swinging by Coruscant next rotation to resupply. How about showing the general the old stomping grounds?”

Ahsoka bit her lip. She wanted so, so badly to say yes. What else but a tour of a star destroyer to trigger what would hopefully be a long series of reawakened memories in her old master? If only that were actually possible. If only....

_If only,_ a voice in the back of her mind whispered _, she could hitch a ride on Rex’s cruiser and go back out to war with him._

She shook off the thought. It was impractical, and she had better get over it.

“It’s, um, a little more complicated than that,” she said.

Rex cupped his hands together behind him. Not in any outward annoyance, but more in confusion. “What do you mean, Commander?”

She wished she could tell him. In fact, if there was anyone in the universe (outside of those who already knew the truth) that might understand, it was Rex. Besides Obi-Wan, Padmé, and herself, Ahsoka was sure Rex knew Anakin better than anyone. It was a regularly spoken mantra of the clones that you don’t know who someone _really_ is until you’ve fought beside them, and Rex and Anakin had been fighting side-by-side since Ahsoka was still an initiate. Rex knew how to deal with all of Anakin’s moods, had seen Anakin in all of his most extreme states of mind. Except for, well, one.

_The dark side._

“Let’s just say that...this situation isn’t as black and white as it seems,” Ahsoka said quietly. She looked back up at Rex. “It would probably be best if you didn’t tell anyone else about this. Just, um – you know, for Anakin’s privacy.”

Rex seemed to know something more was going on, if the hesitant expression was any indication. But he was still a clone, after all, duty-bound to accept the chain of command and defer judgement to his commanders. Just this once, Ahsoka decided to take that for granted.

“Understood, sir. I wish General Skywalker the best, on behalf of the five hundred and first.”

Ahsoka tried really hard to smile. “Say hi to the men for me. I’ll try to drop by the ship if I can.”

Rex saluted and Ahsoka waved the comm off, getting off the meditation chair and stretching the tightness out of her legs. She needed to start stretching regularly again, or soon she’d be less bendy than an uncooked noodle. Then, she made her way into the living area where Anakin was scrolling idly through a datapad with the HoloNet on in the background. His eyes looked glossy and Ahsoka had the feeling he wasn’t paying much attention to either.

She sat on one of the armchairs and glanced at him. “I just got off the comm with our old army captain,” she said, hoping to get some kind of response. “He said he hopes you’re doing well.”

It looked to take a long minute for the words to travel across the room and into the language centers of Anakin’s brain, as if the speed of sound had slowed to a fraction of itself. All Anakin managed to say was, “Oh.”

She curled herself into the chair. “Do you mind if I change the channel?”

He shook his head no and she reached over for the control. When she finally found a serial that she liked, broadcast out of the capital of Meldona, she slumped in her seat and let her mind wander. She and Anakin had been to Meldona once, a small, uninspiring Core world that was mostly self-sufficient, famous for exporting just about nothing, notable in her memory only because of some conspiracy they’d gone to investigate about a virus that had been infected into the planet’s grain supply by alleged Separatist criminals. Then she remembered the blue shadow virus on Naboo, and how she had been about twenty minutes away from dying before Anakin and Obi-Wan had showed up with the antidote from Iego. She had been fourteen, then...barely a Padawan for more than a few short months and already she’d almost died half a dozen times. She wondered briefly if all Master-Padawan duos ran into this much life-threatening trouble, or if there was something about their lineage that got her and her masters into crazy situations.

That was, really, _really_ crazy situations. Like, ‘going to a planet made of the Force’-type crazy. ‘Breaking into a Separatist stronghold while frozen in carbonite’-type crazy. ‘Being abducted then brainwashed into serving the Sith and now sitting on the couch five feet away from her’-type crazy.

Surely, if they had gotten through all that crazy, crazy stuff, they could get through this, right?

No, actually, Ahsoka wasn’t so sure they could. Because that crazy stuff had to do with the universe trying to kill them a thousand different ways. _This_ crazy stuff involved the dark side and mental problems and things she didn’t really understand because she had been taught her whole life not to let emotions get in her way. Now, emotion was all there was. Some of hers, some of Anakin’s, some of Obi-Wan’s, some of Padmé’s.

They were all a mess.

She didn’t know what to do.

Her attention shifted to Anakin, who was slowly getting up. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“’M tired,” he said, and he sure looked it. But, well, he always did. He got up and went to his room and left Ahsoka sitting there, stuck in her own reverie, thinking about how messed up this all was, and how if she hadn’t just sat here wordlessly but had actually taken any kind of action to _help_ him then maybe there wouldn’t be such an awkward, uncomfortable tenseness around here all the time.

She didn’t know what to do. That was it. She just...didn’t know what to do. About anything.

Half an hour later, according to the chronometer on the wall, Obi-Wan came back. Ahsoka got up to leave without even really thinking about it, leaving the holoscreen on and letting her feet guide her out the door.

Obi-Wan put a hand on her shoulder on his way in and said, “Ahsoka?”

“I’m fine,” she said, and she left feeling as confused as he did in the Force.

* * *

 

The next day, she tried to visit Padmé. Ahsoka knew that Padmé had been working on the peace committee like crazy, but only when the senator’s assistant told her that Padmé had been holed up in her office in meetings all day did Ahsoka realize just how busy “busy” actually was. Still, she decided to hang around in case she had a moment to pop in and say hi, so she sat in the corner of the spacious waiting room trying not to make eye contact with Padmé’s assistant.

Half an hour passed, then another, and Ahsoka couldn’t figure out why she was still there. Political figures were coming and going and still Ahsoka sat. After all, she’d been here long enough, and she thought it’d be kind of weird if Padmé’s assistant told the senator that Ahsoka had waited for an hour and a half and then left, so Ahsoka figured she might as well wait a little longer...and a little longer...and maybe just a liiittle longer....

She was about to go, maybe, when the door opened and Ahsoka dared to look up. And there she was, regal and poised but still looking and feeling stressed. Padmé’s hair and makeup looked like it needed touching up and she didn’t even glance around the room until her assistant awkwardly pointed in Ahsoka’s direction and the senator glanced at her.

“Ahsoka!” she said, shuffling over. “Have you been here long?”

“Not really,” Ahsoka lied. “I just thought I’d drop by to see if you weren’t busy.”

“I really am,” Padmé said, and she looked apologetic. At this point, Ahsoka was so tired she kind of didn’t care anymore. “I’m so sorry, but there’s a meeting I have to go to. I’m trying to campaign for more people to approve the Senate committee’s proposal for when the vote comes. Would you mind dropping by another time?”

“No, it’s fine. And yeah, I will,” Ahsoka said, standing up. She tried to grin, but it probably didn’t look right. Padmé just put a quick hand on her shoulder and left with a smile.

Not looking at Padmé’s assistant, Ahsoka followed her out after a minute. Briefly, she considered dropping in on her friend Riyo Chuchi, but Force knew Riyo was probably offplanet or _otherwise occupied_ so Ahsoka just glanced at her haunted-looking reflection in a glass display case, sighed, and headed back to the temple.

* * *

 

In her room, she’d been lying on her sleep mat for a good three hours by now, staring out the window at the blue, starless sky, sort of trying to sleep but also trying to think of a good way to convince everyone who mattered that she needed to go back out into the field. Fighting was all she was good for, anyway, and she was old enough to make her own decisions, even if she _was_ still a Padawan, right? Right. So why did they want to keep her here so badly?

It made her so mad. Why couldn’t she just go back to war? She’d been on her own before. She’d helped rescue Padawans from Trandoshan hunters and saved Togruta slaves from Zygerrians and sure, she’d made plenty of mistakes in the past but she’d learned from them. She wasn’t the snippy youngling that had been shipped off to Christophsis at fourteen, courting an ailing Huttlet across the Dune Sea on Tatooine while her grumpy new master refused to talk about the fact that he’d been enslaved on that planet as a child. All she wanted, really the only thing (okay maybe not _really_ ) was to rendezvous with the 501st and take down the Separatists and help Padmé end the war so that Anakin and Obi-Wan would never have to go out there and risk their lives in it again.

She sat up, and punched her pillow with her fist, and then with her other fist, and then got up and paced around the small space. She would do it. She would show them that she deserved to be out there, that it was her _place_ out there, that keeping her here was wasting resources when they already had so little to begin with. It was already late, and getting later, but she opened her closet and changed into her workout clothes and ten minutes later she was at the training gym, tapping a droid on the shoulder plate to activate it, saying, “Spot me.”

So there she was, at probably twenty-three thirty doing some heavy lifting, with the weight cranked up as high as she thought reasonable, doing as many reps as she could before her screaming muscles felt like they were about to give out. When she was doing her triceps, she noticed a young, barely-Padawan-aged boy sneaking in from the door across the hall and quietly making his way over to do some reps of his own. If she’d had energy to spare, she would have grinned. She’d been just like him at that age. And, well, maybe still. Or, _definitely_ still.

When her arms were beginning to feel like cooked noodles, she switched to toning her legs. When _they_ felt like they were about to give out, she finally made her way over to a treadmill, setting it on an incline. She ran. She ran and ran and ran. She was sweating so bad. Her lungs felt like they were full of glass. She kinda thought she might throw up. Instead of stopping, she kept running.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know what she was doing to her body. She _knew_ that over-exerting herself past midnight, without warming up and without replenishing electrolytes, to make up for days or weeks of missed workouts wouldn’t solve anything. If anything, she was just going to make herself feel worse. But right now, right here, she just had so much _energy_ and she needed to get rid of it all or she might _actually_ explode.

She ran, and imagined.

She was running through a thick, thorny island forest beside abandoned Padawans being used as hunting targets. Through a battlefield, every step avoiding a blaster bolt aimed at where she had been just a second before. Through a cruiser that was irreversibly damaged and on a collision course straight into a planet. Down a long winding path, wildly chasing after a speeder bike that had some enemy of hers or another on it. Dooku, she was running after Dooku. Her hands clenched into fists and she cranked the speed up, almost to a sprint. She would get him. She would beat him. She would _kill_ him. Just like he had killed Anakin.

Ahsoka ran. But not fast enough.

One wrong step and she tripped, tripped on nothing, and suddenly her knee was coming into contact with the moving treadmill, everything moved fast and hurt and then suddenly she was on the floor and the treadmill was moving without her, the hovering, textured conveyor belt going on and on while she rubbed her knee and felt like a fool.

Figuring maybe it was time to call it quits, she stood up to turn the machine off and then began to head towards the door to slump her pathetic way back to her room. Suddenly, though, her head was kind of foggy, her knee hurt really bad and was sort of weak under her still, her lungs ached so much and both her sides and her head, too...this was such a mistake, she was such an idiot, she took another step and her knee gave out under her, why had she even _come_ here, what was she trying to prove, her head was pounding, what...what....

...

...

Her head was swimming...she groaned, remembering immediately what had happened only because of the musty, sweaty stink of the training gym. Muscles aching, lungs feeling like they were gonna fall out, she opened her eyes and the first thing she saw was the young human, with his short-cropped Padawan haircut that she’d always thought looked kinda silly. He was kneeling over her, looking sweaty and nervous and just a little bit blurry.

The boy said, “Are you okay? I called a medic, she should be here soon....”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka said, putting a hand to her forehead. Strictly speaking, that was a lie. The world was spinning, even worse so when she tried to sit up. She blinked at the boy. “What are you doing here so late, kid? Isn’t it past curfew?”

His cheeks turned a funny shade of red, and his brows creased. “Hey, I called the medic for you, so you can’t report me.”

Ahsoka gave a lifeless snicker. “Wasn’t gonna. I used to do it all the time. But you could have been caught by someone way scarier than me – you ever met Master Windu?”

The Padawan shuddered. “This isn’t my first time out after hours.” He handed Ahsoka a disposable cup of water. “What’s your name? I’m Caleb Dume.”

“Ahsoka Tano,” she said, clutching the stitch in her side as she pushed herself fully against the wall. “You have a master, Caleb?”

He blushed again, looking down. “No.” Of course not – that’s why he was here in the first place. Trying to work himself up so he could impress a knight well enough that they would voluntarily take him on. Sometimes she wondered if any master would have ever picked her out for themselves, or if she would have been stuck in some boring temple position her entire life because she was too...well, snippy.

She leaned her head back. “Well, don’t be in a hurry to get one, ‘cause soon as you do, you’ll be shipped out to fight in a war that’ll take everything from you.”

Caleb was silent for a moment, then asked quietly, “Is that what happened to you?”

Ahsoka sighed, and looked away. “I don’t even know.”

He clearly didn’t know how to respond, but he didn’t have to, because a moment later a door slid open and a new voice said, “I heard it was a Togruta Padawan who had fainted, but I’m not sure I expected it to be you, Ahsoka.”

“Master Unduli?” Ahsoka said, trying to sit up more but Luminara pushed her gently back against the wall as soon as she knelt down. “I didn’t know you were a healer.”

“I’m not, exactly,” Luminara said, rifling through her medkit to find a portable vital scanner, which she lifted up and waved near Ahsoka’s head and chest. “The medical ward is so short staffed because of the war, they need all of the recruits they can get. Besides, I’ve always been interested in the healing arts, especially since...well, you know.” She paused for a moment, looking mournful. Ahsoka did know; Barriss had always had a passion for healing. She’d made it look so easy, too...

Luminara cleared her throat. “You’re dehydrated, Ahsoka. Have you been drinking any water?”

Ahsoka bit her lip, suddenly feeling years younger than she was. “No...but I’m fine, Master, I just got a little dizzy for a second. I’ll go back to my quarters and lie down, I’m sorry to drag you down here this late –”

“The only place you’re going is to the medical ward,” Luminara said, gentle but stern. “With me, now.”

Ahsoka closed her eyes for a moment and bowed her head. There was no use putting up a fuss. It would just make this worse. She felt like a child when she said, “Yes, Master.”

Caleb, however, was leaning forward with curiosity. “You wanted to be a healer since what?”

Luminara turned to him, looking him over with the a subtly amused expression. “I thank you for looking out for Ahsoka, young one, but I do believe it is past curfew for initiates.”

The boy looked startled, and sprang to his feet. “Yes, Master. Um – goodnight.”

Ahsoka waved at him. “Wait, Caleb –” The boy turned to look at her, his eyes wide. “Enjoy your childhood while you still have it.” He looked puzzled, but he nodded slowly and left.

Ahsoka accepted Luminara’s help to get up, holding her hand to her still-swimming head. As they walked out, she said tiredly, “I want to end the war before more kids like him have to go out and fight.”

Luminara said, quiet, “I do, too.”

They were quiet the rest of the way to the med ward. Ahsoka thought about Barriss, about how her friend had used to dream about studying Force healing after the war was over, about how she’d wished she could stop fighting to stay at home and help the wounded Jedi and clones, but couldn’t because she wasn’t far along enough in her training. Ahsoka fought a sigh. She wished Barriss was here. More so, she wished Barriss hadn’t done what she did.

At the med ward, Ahsoka pulled off her boots and her belt with her sabres attached and leaned back in bed while Luminara briefly disappeared, then came back with a light meal and copious fluids. She sat on Ahsoka’s bed. “Care to tell me how you’re doing, Padawan?”

Ahsoka fiddled with a piece of bread. “I’m just tired.”

“I know you’re more than _just_ tired, Ahsoka,” Luminara said with a sad smile. “Pushing yourself past the brink of exhaustion when you’re safe at home isn’t like you. This isn’t a warzone. What’s on your mind?”

She sort of felt like she wanted to cry. Not sad tears, or angry ones, but more like the ones you cried when you were so tired of everything that you just wanted to sleep forever. And not sleep forever as in _dying_ , just a deep sleep to make up for all the nights you’ve ever missed. “I just feel like there’s no reason for me to be here. In the temple, I mean. I’m not doing anything here. No one really needs me. I just want to go back out and fight.”

“I thought you were helping Skywalker with his recovery?”

Ahsoka huffed and stared pointedly at a random patch of bed. “I’m not helping anyone, and he’s _definitely_ not recovering.”

Luminara put her hands together in her lap. “Tell me more about that.”

Leaning back in her reclined, elevated hospital bed, Ahsoka wondered if any of this was supposed to be off limits, if she was allowed to talk about what happened to Anakin and if anyone outside her and the Jedi Council knew or even _suspected_ the truth. But she guessed she could still talk _around_ the issue, if not providing the revelation that Anakin had been turned into a dark side murder machine by two very evil Sith Lords....

“Every time I see Anakin he looks even worse,” Ahsoka said. “I’m just supposed to be there whenever Master Kenobi steps out for a breather or to do Council stuff, because someone needs to be there to...look after him, but...I’m not actually helping him. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Word around the temple is that he was held captive for the entire year,” Luminara said quietly. “I try not to listen to rumors, but when it’s a Jedi as...renowned as Skywalker it can be difficult to avoid. Is it true he’s lost much of his memory?”

“Most of it,” Ahsoka confirmed, getting a little misty-eyed. It was hard not to when she thought about how hollowed and sad Skyguy’s eyes were all the time. She had never seen him like that before. Honestly, it scared her. “He doesn’t really talk a lot...I don’t know.”

“And how is all of this affecting you, Ahsoka?”

She shrugged. It was so weird how it was the question she wanted someone to ask, but she still didn’t have an answer she was ready to give. “I’m fine.”

“Again, if you were, then you wouldn’t be in this hospital bed right now.”

Ahsoka looked down. “I guess.”

“Have you told Master Kenobi how you feel?” Luminara asked.

Ahsoka shook her head. “He’s too occupied with other things. He’s the one who should have had a meltdown by now, he’s doing everything for Anakin and still being on the Council and I just don’t know how he _does_ it all. I don’t want to bother him.”

Luminara smiled gently. “I have known Obi-Wan for a very long time, and I’m certain that you would not be bothering him. Obi-Wan is one of the most –” she looked around the room, searching for the right word, “— _caring_ Jedi that I’ve ever met. Often a master and Padawan accept each other as independent individuals, but I remember that Obi-Wan would always put the needs of his Padawan before his own, to the point that – please don’t tell him this – some used to joke that he was more of a parent to Skywalker than a master.” The upturned corners of her mouth slowly turned into a frown. “I can attest that as a master to a Padawan, it can be difficult to devote yourself so fully to having someone under your care. To avoid becoming too attached, masters often keep a certain distance and sense of privacy. But Obi-Wan – well, he is certainly an exception.”

It was true...Obi-Wan cared so much about his Padawans that sometimes it became overbearing, and intrusive. And Obi-Wan himself knew that. Maybe that was why they’d had trouble communicating lately. She didn’t want to give in so much, and he didn’t want to grow so attached. Not again.

“I just wish everything could go back to the way it was a year ago,” Ahsoka said.

“So do I, sometimes,” Luminara said mournfully. “But we, as Jedi, know well enough that such thinking is unproductive. Not meaningless, just unproductive. But what _would_ be productive would be for you to tell Master Kenobi how you’ve been feeling. I really think he would want to know.”

With a sigh, Ahsoka nodded. “Can you please just not tell him what happened today?” she asked. “I don’t want him mothering me when he already has so much on his plate.”

“I will respect that,” Luminara said, “But only as long as you take better care of yourself from now on. You know better than to be so careless.”

“I will, Master.”

“Good,” Luminara said with a smile, standing up. “Then finish your meal, and go to sleep. Someone will be in tomorrow morning to do your bloodwork and then you can go. Deal?”

Ahsoka nodded with a faked grin and slumped back into the bed when Luminara shut the door behind her, thinking about how talking to Obi-Wan about this would be a lot easier said than done.

* * *

 

When she went to talk to Master Kenobi the next day, she stopped short right after she entered his and Anakin’s suite when she heard him talking quietly to someone in the kitchen unit on the other side of the wall. With a little scooching and investigating, she realized he was talking to Master Windu over his comm. And, yeah, okay, maybe it would have been the ethical thing to do to leave him to it, but she thought that if she left now she would never find the courage to talk to Obi-Wan at all so maybe a little snooping was, just this once, appropriate.

The voice of Mace Windu said, _“It’s been a month, Obi-Wan. I don’t know how much longer we can hold off.”_

“A month is a remarkably short time to expect someone to come back from this sort of thing, don’t you think, Master?”

_“We need every Jedi we have, you know that. Every week we lose more. We need you out there.”_

“And what are you going to do when there are none left?”

_“You know I don’t have an answer.”_

There was a silence, and Ahsoka felt a certain swelling in her chance. _Send me out there,_ she wanted to say, coming around the corner and begging Master Windu to ship her out. She didn’t know what was stopping her.

_“There are other options, you know. You don’t have to be the one to look after him.”_

Obi-Wan sighed. “Yes, Master, I do know. Believe me, I know exactly what the situation is, and I am doing the best that I can. But I can’t – this isn’t something that can be rushed. There will come a time when Anakin no longer wants or needs my help, and when that happens you will be more than free to send me out into the field. But I need time, Master. He needs time.”

Another pause, and then: _“Well that time is running out.”_

A beep told Ahsoka the conference was over. A few seconds later, and she heard Obi-Wan say, “Didn’t your master ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop?”

Oops. She moved around the corner into the kitchen. “Guess I’m a slow learner.”

He gestured tiredly to the chair opposite him and she sat down, watching him. He had his eyes closed and his head resting in his hand. “Sometimes I just can’t believe them,” he said, voice hinting at disdain. “It’s like they think he’s a machine. Why does everyone seem to think I can _fix_ him? He’s not broken, he’s in pain _._ How can an empath be so devoid of compassion?”

It was rhetorical, but still Ahsoka wished she had an answer. She watched him rub his eyes and then lean back in his chair, then look at her as if just now realizing she was here. “I’m sorry, Ahsoka. Did you want to talk about something?”

She bit her lip. Maybe – okay, this wasn’t what Luminara had meant, but this was the perfect opportunity – “You know, if Master Windu needs someone to go out into the field, I could do it. I mean, if they need someone....”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “There’s nothing in particular he needed me for, they just...for the future, you know....”

“Well,” she said slowly, “I’ll be here in the future. I want to help, however I can, and if they’re short on Jedi then I’m more than capable of helping them out.”

He looked a little nervous, eyeing her with a crease between his brows. “I’m sure they’ll hold on without us. Especially if Padmé’s committee does its job.”

Urgh – fine, out with it. She put her hands down a little too forcefully on the table. “Master, I want to go out in the field. I want to go back to war. I hate being cooped up here, I need to be _doing_ something.”

He blanched. “What? You are doing something –”

“No, Master –” she leaned forward as far as she could. “I need to be _out_ there. I haven’t been in one place this long since I was an initiate, and I hate it. I can’t _stand_ it. I’m going stir crazy. I just miss it, okay? I miss the action, I miss the clones...I miss the 501st. Please, just tell Master Windu that I’m available to ship out at any time, all on my own, you know I can do it –”

Obi-Wan held out both his hands. “Hold on, Ahsoka. Where is this coming from? How long have you felt like this?”

“Since all of this started!” she said. “Since everything else became a priority for every _one_ else! I don’t want to _be_ here anymore!”

Her master looked faintly stunned. He said, “I – I should have noticed something was wrong. I’m sorry, Ahsoka.”

“Master,” she said flatly, “This isn’t about you. Don’t apologize. Just send me out there.”

Obi-Wan had a funny, apprehensive look on his face. “You would really rather be on the battlefield than... _home_?”

She nodded, waiting for his real answer.

“Well,” he said, reaching up to rub his beard. “No.”

“What?!” she near-shouted, jumping up out of her seat. “I’m not even needed here! There’s nothing for me to do! Out there, they need help, people are _dying_ –”

“And I don’t want you to be one of them!” Obi-Wan said, a little more forcefully than he usually talked. “We all think we’re invincible until we’re the ones cold on the ground with a blaster hole through our chest. I am not letting you throw your life away.”

“But it’s _my_ life!”

“You are sixteen years old!” Obi-Wan said sharply, leaning across the table. “If it was my choice you never would have gone out there in the first place.”

“Have I not proved myself to you or something? Because I can! I _will_ , I’ll show you –”

“Ahsoka–”

She was already whirling around and springing towards the door when something caught her eye, something lingering around the corner of the wall, some _one_ who had been listening to their conversation for some indeterminate amount of minutes and had overheard what she suddenly decided was too much information.

Sometimes, she actually forgot that Anakin was here. Sometimes she was sure that this was all a wild delusion that she had thought up and that he was still dead. Sometimes, when she saw him in person, her heart started racing and skipping beats and she felt a knot of nauseous terror lump up in her throat because she was positive she was looking at a ghost. Right now, this was sort of what happened, although it only took a couple gut-wrenching seconds before she remembered that if Anakin wasn’t alive she wouldn’t even be on this planet in this room facing these problems so really she wouldn’t have anything to worry about to begin with.

So, after a tremendous gasp, she tried to steady herself and said, “I didn’t know you were there.”

Behind her, she felt Obi-Wan spring up because he, too, had not noticed the new presence in the room. First, Ahsoka vaguely remembered that the Sith had trained Anakin to conceal himself in the Force, explaining their momentary ignorance. Then, she registered that Obi-Wan had only sprung up from his seat when he realized Anakin was there, not when she was storming out on him, and she felt a sting of fury bite at her.

But then, it vanished a moment later when Anakin said, “I don’t think you should leave.”

Ahsoka registered bewildering confusion. “What?”

“To the war,” Anakin said. “You shouldn’t go. You should stay here.”

Rage forgotten, she shared half a glance with Obi-Wan before looking back at Anakin’s face. It looked to be as hard for him to meet her eyes as it was for him to speak. His eyes were red and his voice was strained and his face just looked overall kind of droopy and puffy, like he’d been crying a lot. She bit her lip, hard – the thought of him crying made her want to, too. Bad.

“I, um...,” she stuttered, beginning to forget what she’d been so angry about in the first place. “It’s just that, I’m kind of just taking up space here, and....”

Anakin sort of fiddled with the hem of his sleeve and looked down at his hands. “I just want you to stay.”

In the corner of her eye, Ahsoka saw Obi-Wan looking at Anakin like a treasure hunter would look at precious gemstones at the richest mine on an uncharted planet. She, too, was speechless. Seriously. She couldn’t think of any words, like, at all.

“I – uh,” she stammered, feeling her headtails flush a dark blue. “I – okay. Okay, I – I won’t. Leave. I’ll stay.”

Anakin nodded and finally looked away from her. He almost reminded her of a child, separated from his parents in a crowd of people, like he didn’t want to stand still but neither did he know where to go. Eventually, he said, “Thank you,” and sort of turned away then went outside to the little balcony and sat against the wall.

Ahsoka couldn’t do anything other than gape up at Obi-Wan, who had fallen just as mute with astonishment as she had. She tried to say something, but it just came out as a few ‘ums’ and ‘uhs’ but Obi-Wan put a hand on her shoulder and said, “I know.”

Then, she couldn’t stop herself no matter how off-limits it might have been, but she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Obi-Wan’s torso and rested her forehead on his shoulder. He tensed for just a moment but returned the hug.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

“It’s all right, Ahsoka,” he said, rubbing her back gently. “It’s all right.”

* * *

 

It was only a few hours later that she felt like she had finally recovered from the whole mess of emotions that she’d felt when Anakin had said, _I just want you to stay here_. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, and how much effort it must have taken him just to come out from hiding and face her long enough to say that. Being honest about one’s feelings, especially out of the blue, was _hard_ – believe her, she knew.

So, only a little bit still shaken up, she was going back to her quarters after stopping elsewhere for lunch, when there was a repetitive sound that she kept hearing, like a _tap, tap, tap_ , behind her that made her turn around, and she realized like a dolt that Master Yoda had been following her for a good minute or so.

“Master Yoda,” she said, trying to act like she had been ignoring him on purpose. Actually, maybe not – uh, which was better?

“Wondered I did if you would ever look around, Padawan,” he said with a light-hearted cadence, but even with his jovial tone Ahsoka felt a chill ripple through her. It was amazing how even after all these years, just one look from Yoda could paralyze anyone, let alone make them rethink every life decision they’d ever made.

“Visiting a group of younglings, I was,” Yoda said, looking up at her with both hands on the handle of his walking stick. “Nice it is, to speak with Jedi who are my size. Spoiled you humanoids are.” He let out his little Yoda-chuckle. She couldn’t help but smile, though it felt just a little bit forced.

“I guess I’ve never thought about it, Master,” she said, shrugging.

The old Jedi took his time finishing his laugh and then clearing this throat. “Spoke with Master Luminara I did, and mentioned you were. Feeling better, are you?”

She felt her headtails flush, and her throat felt a little swollen. “Master, I was at a low point that night, but I swear I’ve meditated on it and –”

“Mmmm,” he interrupted her. “Explain yourself, you need not. Thought you would need this time off, the Council did. Forgotten you we have not. Ignored you we have not. Tell me, how do you feel?”

She shuffled her feet, and struggled to meet his big greenish eyes. It would be folly to lie. He would know. He _always_ knew. “I feel...useless, Master. I feel like I should be doing something.”

“Fighting in the war, you mean?”

She looked down. “Yes.” She hesitated, and said, “That’s what I’m best at, Master. That’s why you sent me out all those years ago.”

“Hmmm, no it is not,” he said, tapping his stick on the floor with each syllable. “Sent you were so that learn from Skywalker you could, and so that learn from you he could. And learn you did. Grew, you did, as did he.”

She stared at the floor. “I still have some growing to do, I guess.”

“Hmmmmm. A Jedi never stops growing. Growing still am I. Stagnant we cannot be, nor can the Force. A change of scenery you need, I think, but stay here you will. Not return to battle until you appreciate the time you have here. To do that, other things we will find for you to do. Important things.” He blinked slowly for a few long moments, and thought. Then, he continued, “Enjoy working with younglings, do you? Seen you with them many times I have. Work with them you could. Guidance they need from experienced Jedi during this dark time.”

“I could do that,” she said shyly. Yeah, actually, she _would_ like that. Younglings were sweet, uncorrupted, and eager. She had been one not three years ago, and that Yoda had called her an ‘experienced Jedi’ was an honor beyond anything a Padawan could hope for.

Yoda nodded. “Good. Start tomorrow you will, if you are ready. Help Master Sinube for a time, you will.”

Ahsoka bowed low. “Thank you, Master. Your trust means everything to me.”

“More important it is to trust in yourself, Padawan. Only then can you live up to your potential. My trust you do not need.”

She nodded, and with one last tap of his stick straight to one of her kneecaps – why did he _always_ feel the need to do that? – she watched him hobble off into the growing muddy darkness of the dimly lit corridor.

* * *

 

At the end of the next day, Ahsoka was amazed to realize that working with younglings could leave her just as exhausted as the battlefield could. The differences, of course, outweighed the similarities – no explosions, for one, although she was sure the Padawans would have liked that, and generally no one trying to kill her – but if she had known how busy and _involved_ this job was, she would have done it from the start. The younglings, as ever, were chock full of laughable, entertaining questions and comments: “What’s the coolest planet you’ve ever been to?” “Check out my skills, I’m gonna be the one who takes down Count Dooku!” “How many battle droids have you destroyed?” And Ahsoka’s personal favorite, “Did Master Window have hair before the war started?”

It wasn’t the most fun she’d ever had. It _was_ hard work, physically draining but mentally rewarding. Most importantly, it _did_ feel like she was actually doing something meaningful. And yeah, every now and then she did still wish she was leading clones into a fireworks show of blaster fire and facing death head-on (she meant that in the heroic way, not the suicidal way) but overall, she was pretty satisfied.

To be one hundred percent honest, though – she wasn’t that confident that it would last.

* * *

 

Three days had passed from the start of her new adventure, and finally Ahsoka had a day off. She slept in until eleven hundred hours, worked out in Luminara-approved moderation, took a quick speeder trip out to a restaurant because temple food seriously got boring fast, whipped back to her bedroom to grab her datapad, and finally she found herself pressing her palm to Obi-Wan and Anakin’s suite keypad with one goal in mind: spread her newfound cheer to those who needed it. _Really_ needed it.

It amazed her each time, without fail, how this two-bed two-bath suite, fit snug and inconspicuous in the living area of the temple, seemed to have its own atmosphere. Right now the air in here was stuffy, and the lights mostly off. In the Force she felt Obi-Wan at a height of tranquil calmness, tucked away in his meditation room. She was glad that he, too, could get some peace of mind, even when he was stuck in this...situation.

She saw light bouncing off the walls near the sitting area, so she quietly rounded the corner to see if Anakin was there. He was actually awake this time, curled into the couch as if it were his shell, with his eyes staring at the holoscreen like he was mesmerized by something. She turned her head to see what he was watching and suddenly she wanted to throw up.

It was something Ahsoka had hoped she would never see again. There was Dooku, standing high and tidy at a podium, and there was Anakin on the screen, about to be fake-shot by a couple of super battle droids, and here, now, was Anakin in real life, watching the three minutes that had changed everything with a completely blank, emotionless expression on his face, his head casually resting on his hand. She didn’t understand, and she never would, how he could voluntarily sit down and watch this thing, the thing that haunted her for twelve months and then some, and not appear to feel a thing in the world. Especially not when he was supposed to be the one who felt _everything._

Ahsoka must have made a noise, or maybe subconsciously cried out in the Force, because Anakin suddenly looked in her direction and gasped, bending over where he sat and scrambling to turn the screen off. But the damage had been done – Ahsoka could barely move, and barely think except for the one thought that she really, really wished she had decided just to spend a quiet night in her quarters tonight. But no, she had come here, committed to having a nice evening with old friends and that was exactly what she still planned on doing. It would just, um, take a minute for her to get there.

They were silent for a time, until Anakin said, “I was – just flipping through the...channels....”

Ahsoka nodded numbly, pretending to assume that was true. “How – many times have you watched that?”

Anakin bit his lip. “Maybe seven.”

She drummed her fingers on the wall. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No...do you?”

“Not really.”

They waited in uncomfortable silence that Anakin, thankfully, broke.

“Do you, uh, want to sit down?”

“Okay.” Her knees were trembling, so she took her time walking over to the couch and sitting one whole cushion away from him. In the corner of her eye, she saw him eying her warily before looking down to fiddle with his glove.

They sat in awkward silence for a long time. She was too nervous, suddenly, to look up from the corner of the low table in front of her. Neither of them wanted to be the one to speak first. Eventually Anakin said, “So...I heard you found something to pass the time?”

She nodded, still looking down. “I’m helping out with the initiates,” she said. “Like a teaching assistant type thing.”

Another minute, and she said, “I shouldn’t have come unannounced –”

Anakin was quick to respond, “No, I didn’t hear you come in, I would have turned it off....”

“It’s okay,” Ahsoka said. No, it totally wasn’t. “It’s just that, it wasn’t that long ago, and – I still remember it like it was yesterday....”

Anakin said, “I don’t remember it at all.”

She turned her head to look at him. He was staring sideways at her. For a little while they just sort of gazed at each other, but not in a kind of way where she wanted to break it off. Both his eyes and himself in the Force were kind of clouded, not giving anything away, but at the same time she felt closer to him than she had for the last two months. Even if he wasn’t sharing, he wasn’t pulling away, either, and she would damn well take that as progress.

“I brought something I wanted to show you,” she said, breaking contact after a comfortable time. She picked up her datapad and turned it on. “There was this, well, game that we used to play sometimes when we had a day off. It was just kind of something where we could forget everything that was happening in the universe and pretend that our lives were...normal, I guess. I thought you might want to play it again.”

She felt kind of silly bringing it up, now, because after all he was no longer privy to the meaning behind all the private jokes and personal connections they’d had before. Regardless, and she didn’t know if it was to humor her after that mutually embarrassing exchange or because he was genuinely curious, but he looked over at what was in her hands and she tilted the screen towards him. Displayed now were a handful of colorful cartoon characters on the main menu, bouncing around and waiting in the nonexistent world of cyber recreation for the game to start.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, a little shakily, and again she wasn’t sure if it was to humor her or not, but she forced herself to shrug it off as she picked his datapad off the caf table and synced them together, then with the holoprojector. For a moment, she stared at the blue-tinted holoscreen as if to make sure that the image from a few minutes ago was definitely, certainly not there, before she activated the first level.

“I’m just going to put it on easy mode,” she said, fiddling with the controls. “Do you want me to put the tutorial on?”

“I...think I remember, actually,” Anakin murmured, sort of to himself, staring down with a slight frown at his hands on either side of the datapad. Then he glanced up when he felt her gaze on him and added, quickly, “Not, like, the game itself, just the general idea of the controls.”

“Right,” she said quickly, like she had known all along that’s what he meant. She selected ‘Go!’ on the screen to start the level, and they started playing. They took their time at first, looking around at the world and trying to find all of the hidden collectibles. For a little while, she became dreamily lost in the routine of the game, falling comfortably into her psyche of a year ago when they had done this all the time. Their characters roamed the world together, utilizing nonverbal teamwork to solve puzzles, until Ahsoka became stingingly aware of how awkward she felt all of a sudden. She wondered if he felt it too.

“Hey,” she said after a while, clearing her throat. She turned her head to look at him. “Hey, I don’t mean to – um, I mean – is it, like, weird if I ask you about...the whole, memory loss thing?”

Anakin looked back at her and shrugged. “Go for it.”

“Well,” Ahsoka said, swinging her legs mindlessly where she sat. “I know that I haven’t really been around, much. I hope you understand that it’s because I don’t really know what to say, not because I don’t care.” In fact, she wasn’t sure she had really understood that herself until she’d said it just now. He nodded, not saying anything. She cleared her throat again. “So...what _do_ you actually remember?”

He took a deep breath and let his hands fall gently into his lap. “Not much. A little bit from when I was a kid, and a little from more recent stuff. Nothing at all that’s Jedi related. Honestly, that’s really it. There’s gotta be...I guess, maybe fifteen years that are just...gone.”

“Do you remember everything since you came here?” she said, trying to understand.

His mouth twisted into sort of a confused grimace. “I don’t think so. I’ve figured out that I forget stuff easier when I’m really tired, which is most of the time. I know sometimes I have to ask Obi-Wan a question half a dozen times because I won’t remember that I’ve asked it before. ”

“That...stinks,” she said, lamely. “Is there anything that I could do to help?”

He bit his lip. “I don’t know.”

They went back to playing for a little while longer. The cheerful music and pastel coloring was a good distraction from her sudden onset of nervousness when she tried to think of things she could do or say to help him without making it look like she thought that he couldn’t take care of himself. Truth was, she didn’t know if he could or not. She didn’t really understand exactly the extent of what had happened to him. She wasn’t at all sure if she _wanted_ to know. But she _did_ want to help, suddenly more than ever before, because as much as Anakin might be calm, not-quite-sedentary, and awake right now, she had to remind herself that he was still super depressed and not at all in a good state of mind, right now. She wondered, since he _did_ seem to be doing so well right now, exactly how he felt right at this moment.

“Hey, um,” she said. She paused the game because she knew this wasn’t something she could say while multitasking. She turned fully in her seat and looked directly at him. “I don’t really know how to say this, but I just want you to know...that I know I’ve been mostly absent, but that’s only because, like I said, I just don’t really know what to say. But if you ever need anything, literally anything at all, please just ask me, because I swear I’ll drop everything and come here right away, no matter what it is.”

He kind of stared at her for a moment and then looked down and away, chewing on his lip and apparently trying to figure out how to respond to that. Ahsoka gulped, and felt her heartbeat pick up its pace. “Was that not okay to say?”

“No!” Anakin said quickly. “I mean, yes, it was. It’s just, you know...I haven’t...really been around people who say things like that to me.”

She wished she could hug him, but that was way out of bounds. For now, anyway.

“Well, you are now,” she said definitively. “And I swear I’m gonna beat the stuffing out of the next Sith that tries to come within two lightyears of you. I mean it.”

He finally smiled, a real bashful grin that reminded her of the good ol’ days, and though her heart was still pounding in her chest she was glad she said it.

“Only if you let me help,” he said. She grinned back at him, adjusted herself on the couch so that she was less than one whole couch cushion away from him this time, and unpaused the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why hello...I sincerely thank you for your patience, your interest, and your time, especially if you take a moment to review. And, um, sorry about the five month absence. In my own defense, I’ve been doing a whole lot of nothing. See you at some undesignated future time! Oh, and, I’ve been thinking and I’m guessing there will be around 34 chapters total.


	21. When Love Hurts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this on a bit of a whim, so please tell me if you see any serious errors.
> 
> Also, just a quick word about someone we all lost not too long ago: Carrie was my ultimate hero for a long time, she was a survivor of drug addiction and mental illness, a brilliant writer, an iconic tweeter, a mom, she was inspirational and hilarious and sarcastic and way more than we ever deserved. A few of her books inspired the earlier chapters of this story, too. Thank you to her for decades of hilarity and cold, hard truths about things people are afraid to talk about.
> 
> I'll leave you with just one of my favorite quotes of hers: help me obi Juan whoever the fuck you are... You're my only ho
> 
> Enjoy!!!

****

“And here it is – the Room of One Thousand Fountains,” Obi-Wan said, his gaze wandering around at the ambiance of perhaps the single greatest indoor arboretum in the galaxy. Yes, he thought – infinitely better than Padmé’s Nubian spa.

The room was its own ecosystem. Given a few, say, hundred million years or so it could surely develop its own evolutionary traits that would make it scientifically unique. With a holographic ceiling engineered to mirror the sky outside, irrigation systems that sprinkled rain-like water for precisely two hours every other morning, and the most biologically diverse collection of flora from a thousand different planets, the room never failed to impress. Indeed, even the mere idea of this actually being, in fact, a _room_ never failed to impress, because this was as close to being outside as one could ever get without leaving the comfort of their own home.

So it was that Obi-Wan had brought Anakin here, and so it was now that he steadied his gaze on Anakin’s face, which was currently the same type of awestruck that it had been as a nine-year-old boy visiting this room for the first time. His eyebrows had raised, making his eyes round and his mouth slightly agape. All he said was, “This is inside?”

Obi-Wan laughed and led him down one of the narrow dirt paths that cut under foliage, so that every few steps they went in and out of shade from the artificial sunlight. In his ears Obi-Wan heard the dull rushing of the largest waterfall, interrupted by the quieter fizzing of the smaller fountains and sprinklers. He remembered, years ago, when a much smaller Anakin had been jumping back and forth in conversation between wow, it’s _so_ green here and _wow!_ there’s so much _water_ what do you do with it all, there’s enough in here to fill the whole Dune Sea! And where often such wistful memories filled him with unbearable longing of late, today they actually made him feel... _young_. Oh, how time had passed.

He led Anakin down a path he’d walked dozens of times, under a canopy of leaves that rustled as they moved by. Side by side, they found themselves soon in a small space by a stream of water that would be recycled to serve as the rain and irrigated into the turf. Obi-Wan reached down to confirm that the grass was dry enough to sit upon, and lowered himself to the ground to take in the beauty all around him.

To his credit, Anakin – who was perhaps the most consistently impatient person Obi-Wan had ever known – seemed remarkably calm and still. His eyes were filled with awe as he looked up at the projected image of the sky. Maybe he missed flying, Obi-Wan thought, the freedom of controlling a ship and the ability to travel infinitely in any direction. Though really, the latter had never been true. Assignments, missions, tasks – every place they had ever gone together, they’d had an objective. Obi-Wan had always favored a Jedi’s travels as a symbol of freedom, but for Anakin, he thought, the endless stream of predetermined destinations and orders had always been another sign of bondage.

Sometimes, Obi-Wan thought he should have done more about that. Anything at all to make Anakin more comfortable growing up in his new, unfamiliar world. He couldn’t quite say for sure, but Obi-Wan had always suspected that the temple had never felt like home to Anakin the way it had to himself. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault, of course. The boy was from another world, literally. Coruscant and Tatooine were different as two planets could be, and their cultures equally so. Perhaps Anakin would have felt more at home on the artificial surface, thousands of meters below the highest spire of the temple, where people of less fortunate backgrounds gathered and struggled to make end’s meet. And that thought made Obi-Wan feel terribly sad; if Anakin and the regality of temple life were so incompatible, what childhood must the boy have had in the desert?

He’d always tried not to think about it. He had tried to help Anakin adjust. But, Obi-Wan thought now, he had probably tried too hard. He hadn’t been ready for his responsibility. Qui-Gon’s request notwithstanding, he probably should have let someone else take Anakin under their wing. But he hadn’t. Why? After all, Qui-Gon wouldn’t have known. During that time, Obi-Wan had been in too much pain to believe that Qui-Gon might have been somewhere else, actively watching from the netherworld of the Force. So what had it been inside him, that made him take this child and teach him every bit of knowledge he had ever accumulated?

It had been a long time coming, but Obi-Wan was finally beginning to accept the answer.

He had been lonely.

It was simple enough. His most trusted companion had died in his arms. Most of his friends of that time had advanced past the Padawan stage and into the true Jedi experience of adulthood. During his long days at the temple after Qui-Gon’s murder, he had been so chillingly lonely, barely finding comfort in anything, let alone the youngling entrusted to him. And, he knew, Anakin had felt much the same. In those early days, they had circled around each other, not entirely knowing what to think. What to do. What to say. Not knowing where to go from there. It had been awkward, confused, and above all, _lonely._ And really, that was what had connected them, in the end. Anakin had been so small, so afraid. Obi-Wan had, too. They had both lost someone, and finally found each other.

Maybe the memories of those feelings were what kept him going now. Maybe he saw those same feelings of loneliness in Anakin now, and that was what drove Obi-Wan to keep going. Because he knew, he remembered, how it felt to be lost in a brand new world and not know how he was supposed to fit into it all. It was how Anakin must have felt. It was how Obi-Wan felt, too.

They had started out as strangers, brought together by a quick succession of unfortunate circumstances. They were strangers now, too. In a sad way, they had always been strangers. It was true that Anakin wasn’t the type of person that Obi-Wan would have ever expected to be his best friend, but there they were. There they _always_ were. Two strangers who happened to know each other inside and out.

He hoped he could reignite that spark. Maybe their relationship would never be the same, but... _but,_ on the other hand, maybe it could be even better than it had been before. It would be delusional to say he and Anakin had never had problems with each other. Maybe this was their opportunity to fix all of that.

Maybe that was part of why he had brought Anakin here, to the fountain room, in the first place.

Or maybe, he thought sardonically, it wasn’t nearly that complicated.

Then, and Obi-Wan in all his ruminations didn’t quite notice the precise moment it happened, but suddenly he felt a distinct buzz of pain and brief nausea in the Force and he looked sideways at Anakin, still standing, who suddenly had one hand on the side of his head and another covering his eyes. Then he groaned, lowered himself to his knees, and bent over himself as if he were about to be sick. Obi-Wan instinctively reached to grab him for support, but thought better of it just in time. Instead, he knelt beside Anakin and said, “Are you all right? What’s wrong?”

It took Anakin a few seconds to answer in a stutter, “Just came out of nowhere....”

Obi-Wan frowned. Another migraine. This was the third, or perhaps the fourth, in the nearly two months since they had been here. He needed to do something about this. Anakin _needed_ something to be done about this. It was time to stop putting it off.

“You know,” he started, slow and careful. “The Halls of Healing are right nearby here, just two floors up, we could be there very quickly, and I’m sure they would have something to help –”

He mostly expected the usual rebuttal and dismissal, so he was surprised when he actually heard Anakin say, in the tiniest voice that made Obi-Wan’s heart ache, “Please...please don’t make me....”

“I’m not making you do anything,” Obi-Wan assured him as gently as he could manage. And that was true, but how could he make Anakin _get_ it? “I need you to understand that, Anakin. Whatever you choose to do is _your_ choice. And the way I see it, you’re letting your fear make your choices for you. I’m offering you my help, but I can only help you so much.”

Anakin took a heaving breath and shuddered. “I know...I know.” He turned his head slightly toward Obi-Wan. “I’m scared.”

“That’s all right,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s okay to be afraid, but you can’t let your fear overcome you. If you avoid things that scare you forever, your fear will only continue to grow.” He took a deep breath. “Just do this for me, ask yourself: do you want to keep feeling like this? Or do you want to stand up against your fear and take back control?”

Anakin looked at him through locks of hair that had fallen in his face. He was breathing in gasps, his face constricted. Through the Force, Obi-Wan could still feel whispers of his nausea, and he knew from the way Anakin held his hand over one eye that the pain had not subsided. He appeared to be considering, or at least trying to, but Obi-Wan knew that his friend’s ability to think was often muddled of late.

Finally, he whispered, “Soon,” and he looked at Obi-Wan like he meant it. “Soon, I will. But now I – just want to go home. Please.”

It wasn’t the outcome he had hoped for, but Obi-Wan smiled at his friend nonetheless. “Okay,” he said softly, and then held out his arm in a gesture of offering. “Can I?” Anakin peeked at him and nodded, and Obi-Wan wrapped his arm around Anakin’s back and helped him up. They walked slowly out of the fountain room and toward a turbolift, and as they made their way back to their living quarters, Obi-Wan found himself momentarily stunned to realize that the advice he was giving Anakin now – not to let go, but to allow himself to _feel_ – was at least slightly out of line with generalized Jedi dogma as he had traditionally practiced it. Then, in an even more stunning revelation, Obi-Wan realized that he believed every word he had said.

Hm....

That bore further consideration, at a later time.

* * *

For a few hours, he left Anakin in his room to rest, allowing himself to sink into meditation and to be grateful for the progress he and Anakin had made, regardless of how long it had taken. And really, they had. True, Obi-Wan still had days of unstoppable frustration and nights where he himself was shamefully close to tears, mornings where Anakin couldn’t get out of bed and afternoons where Ahsoka wouldn’t look him in the eye. But more and more, Obi-Wan got the feeling that, unless he was just too foolishly optimistic, Anakin was again beginning to consider him a friend. Outside of the nights that they didn’t, they frequently ate together, or watched the HoloNet, or sometimes even just sat and talked. For Obi-Wan, it was enough.

But Anakin still needed help.

Later, though the sun was still high, he went in to check on Anakin and found him awake, curled against a pile of pillows on his bed. It was with a distinct crease between his brows and a quivering lower lip that he blinked up at Obi-Wan, who handed him an ice pack for the back of his neck. Then Obi-Wan draped a cool cloth across Anakin’s forehead and let his fingers linger there, smoothing a bit of hair back. That was when he had a thought. Perhaps, he considered, enough time had passed to try something else....

“Anakin,” he said gently, trying not to sound pushy. “I know something that might be able to help, but I need you first to trust me.”

There was no change in Anakin’s droopy eyes. “I do.”

Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief. “Then I need you to open yourself up to me. Close your eyes, and relax. Let me in.”

If Anakin was confused, he must have been too exhausted to show it. Instead, he did as requested, letting his eyes slide shut while still maintaining tenseness in his brow and his shoulders. Obi-Wan rested his hand on the crown of his friend’s aching head, and gingerly took Anakin’s human hand in his other.

He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He considered his environment, the stuffy cool air in the room, the plushness of the bed under him, Anakin’s warm body twisted in blankets, twisted in pain. He considered how his own body felt, the tension in his shoulders, the slightly uncomfortable way he sat, the weight of gravity pulling him down, but the strength of his back keeping him upright. He focused on his breathing, made himself breathe along with the count of four in his head, four counts to breathe in, four to hold, four to breathe out, four to hold. He considered what was in his mind, a wild collection of things he needed to do, whether important or inconsequential. He considered them, then he set them aside for later. Finally, nearing the height of a zen, meditative state, he released the tension in his shoulders, unclenched his jaw, loosened his hold around his friend’s sweaty hand, and sat entirely still.

Now, he could turn his attention to Anakin.

Mind detached from body, he let the Force flow in and around him, a constantly moving current, a turbulent and invisible but very real swirl of energy that connected every part of him to every part of Anakin. Simultaneously they were both two bodies and two ethereal entities. Not for the first time, he allowed himself to feel astounded at how resounding Anakin’s presence was in the Force, the sheer intensity of his friend’s sensitivity to the energy field that a small fraction of life in this galaxy could sense to any substantial degree. Even when they were connected in this way, like two links in an energy chain that bound the whole plane of the universe together, the strength of Anakin’s Force presence seemed to surround him unlike any other. And also not for the first time, he found himself wondering what it must be like to have that kind of spiritual connection to the hidden aspect of the universe to which Obi-Wan had dedicated his entire life.

Truthfully, even when they were bonded together as such like two atoms forming a molecule, there wasn’t much Obi-Wan could do for his friend’s physical form. He wasn’t a Jedi Healer, not that Healers interacted with their patients in quite the same way as this. He didn’t have the innate or learned ability to heal ailments through the power of the Force alone. But that wasn’t his goal, not now. Right now, it wasn’t about what he couldn’t do for Anakin, but what he _could._ And what he _could_ do was simple: he could make Anakin feel more comfortable. He could help him sink deep into relaxation. He could distract him from what harmed him on a physical level by giving him something to cling onto spiritually.

He could make Anakin feel more at home. He could make Anakin feel loved. Perhaps that was his real goal.

So there Obi-Wan sat, barely conscious of his own physical form, living instead in the endless haze of the Force. Perfectly aware of his surroundings and circumstance, ready to return to them at will, but entirely separate from them.

Slowly, he felt it working. He felt the brightness of Anakin dim like the fading sky at sunset, the stinging, throbbing pain fall second to fatigue. He felt his friend’s consciousness slip away into what would likely be vivid dreams that depicted sights and sounds the conscious human brain could not understand. Still, he continued to release soothing pulses through their connecting energy, making sure his friend stayed asleep, before Obi-Wan gradually allowed his concentration to return to the material world and, eventually, his eyes to open.

In his sleep, limp and curled under his sheets, Anakin looked so innocent. Anyone in their own state of sleep would, but it struck Obi-Wan now more than it ever had. He pushed a lock of hair out of Anakin’s relaxed face, then let his hand slide down, coming to rest at a scar just below Anakin’s left shoulder. There were many like it, each telling their own story. Obi-Wan had been there to witness some of them. Many of them were new, unfamiliar. This one in particular looked shockingly similar to the scar that Obi-Wan himself had in the same spot, one from Dooku on Geonosis. There was the one on Anakin’s right arm, received that same fateful day, scar tissue where the flesh melded with metal. So many more, hiding away under the sheets. But Obi-Wan knew they were there. And all he could think...was how _young_ Anakin really was. Young, but experienced beyond his years.

He sat there for a while, gently tracing his finger over the scar on Anakin’s arm, making sure he was asleep. And he vowed, to himself and to the Force, not nearly for the first time, that he would protect Anakin until the day he died.

* * *

It was the same day, though it didn’t feel like it, when Anakin reemerged from his room. Obi-Wan had elected to take a nap, too, though more for his mental stability than his physical comfort. It was late in the afternoon now, and when Anakin found him, Obi-Wan was sitting on the couch in the living area, reading something on his datapad that, for once, was for leisure and not for the war.

When Anakin sat down beside him, his body language portrayed anxiety but his presence in the Force was calm. Obi-Wan put his datapad down and asked, “How’s your migraine?”

“See, that’s the thing,” Anakin said, and it was then that Obi-Wan realized how Anakin was looking at him as if he had never seen him before. With awe, bewilderment, and sheer wondering amazement. He said again, “That’s just it. It’s gone.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. Maybe he _should_ be a Healer after all.

“Which has never happened before,” Anakin continued, clearly awestruck. “What...exactly did you do?”

“I tried to access our connection to each other through the Force,” Obi-Wan explained. “Was it too much?”

“No,” Anakin said, shaking his head back and forth. “I just...I mean, I...I knew you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Anakin said, apparently struggling to turn his thoughts into words, “I’ve been...I’ve had to trust everything you said about...well, everything, but now, I...I know that I _knew_ you.”

Obi-Wan felt his jaw drop slightly. “You mean, you remember?”

“It’s more like you unlocked something,” Anakin said, looking confused. “It might sound stupid, but I feel like there was something hidden away, or buried, and you dug it up again.”

Obi-Wan took Anakin’s hand in his. “You remembered.”

“I remember how I felt. About you.” Anakin stared right at him, and Obi-Wan saw the eyes opposite him were beginning to glisten. When he spoke again, it was thickened by layers of emotion that, for once, didn’t seem to be bad ones. “I know that I trusted you. And...I know that I missed you when I was gone.”

 _Until you forgot me,_ Obi-Wan thought, biting his lip. He hadn’t suspected – he hadn’t _known_ that trying to dissolve his friend’s headache through the Force would trigger anything else. He hadn’t known it was possible. But then, there was nothing about the pair of them or their situation that had any sort of precedent. He should be grateful for this. And he was. Oh, he was.

In a whisper, he said, “I missed you, too.” He truly, truly did.

They stared at each other for a minute and then sat there, not knowing what to say. Or rather, not really needing to say anything. The connection through the Force had, for Obi-Wan at least, conveyed everything just fine.

After a time, Anakin was fiddling with the hem of his sleeve when he said, “If you still, you know, wanted to go to the doctors, then I...I’ll go. Or, whatever you want.”

Obi-Wan smiled sadly. “I _want_ it for your own benefit. I’m often guilty myself of not getting treatment when I need it. And you _do_ need it. I know you know that.”

Anakin nodded. “I...don’t really know if I trust them or not, but...I know I trust you. So....”

“So, you want to get it over with, I presume?”

Another nod.

“Well, then. Let’s go.”

* * *

To be perfectly candid, the hospital unit of the temple was not Obi-Wan’s favorite place to be. There would be no use in trying to remember how many times he’d been here during the last few years; the effort alone was enough to make him feel depressed. He didn’t think he wanted to be here much more than Anakin did, in fact, but sometimes...they all had to make sacrifices.

In fact, he and Anakin had each individually been here so often that the apprentice at the reception desk nodded to him in recognition and said, “Dr. Bhel is free, I’ll let her know you’re here.”

Doctor Bhel Jhassar was a stout and green-skinned Tekho that had essentially acted as Obi-Wan’s and Anakin’s primary physician since the start of the war. A few years older than Obi-Wan, she was patient and kind and practiced exactly the kind of bedside manner that Anakin needed right now. As soon as she called them into her office, she sat them down and sat casually on her desk with a friendly smile on her face.

“To tell you the truth,” she said, “I wasn’t sure this day was going to come.”

Despite himself, Obi-Wan grinned. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you. How’s Ahsoka?”

“Better, but she’s kept much to herself. You would have to ask her.”

Dr. Bhel nodded with a sly smile, then hopped off her desk and manually pulled her office chair around her desk to be close to them. By the time she sat down, something within her had changed to the model of professionalism. She held a datapad in her lap and leaned over slightly, looking at Anakin, who stared directly at the floor.

“Anakin,” she said gently, “My name is Bhel Jhassar. You and Obi-Wan have been my patients many times throughout the last three years, so I’m glad to see you now.” She glanced down at her datapad, then up at Obi-Wan. “Now, Obi-Wan has been kind enough to explain some of the medical situation to me already. I understand that you’re suffering from migraines, seizures, post-traumatic stress. Is there anything else bothering you?”

Anakin eyes flicked up to her. He looked, from Obi-Wan’s perspective, very much like a child at school who did not want to be noticed. He was drawn in on himself, arms clenched to his sides. He shook his head and looked back at the ground.

“I can tell you’re uncomfortable,” Dr. Bhel continued, “and I don’t want to keep you here longer than is necessary. But if I’m going to treat you, I need your help. So can you tell me – is there anything else that hurts? Any injuries or problems you’ve been having?”

Obi-Wan watched as Anakin took a deep breath. It seemed to take a lot of effort for his friend to say, “No.”

“Okay,” Dr. Bhel said with a small smile. “Then I’m going to ask you some questions to try to get a handle on the extent of what you’re facing. Some of these questions might be uncomfortable, but they’ll each help me to help you. First, I’m going to start with your migraines and seizures. As you may know, both of these, as well as memory loss, are commonly caused by head injuries. Are you aware of any head injuries you may have sustained, and how long ago they may have occurred?”

Anakin didn’t, or couldn’t, answer. Instead, he was sitting shock still, frowning down at the ground. Dr. Bhel appeared sympathetic. She said, “Listen, I know what I’m asking. From what I understand, which may not be much, you’ve been through many terrible ordeals. I don’t want to ask you to tell me about what happened, but there are certain things that I need to know if I’m going to be able to help you. Even if you can tell me the bare minimum and nothing more, that will help. So please, just let me ask this: did you, to your knowledge, experience physical trauma to your head?”

As he watched Anakin struggle, Obi-Wan wished he could chip in any information, but truly – he didn’t know. He didn’t know what had happened to Anakin. He had ideas, theories, dozens of them – but he didn’t _know._ He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He wondered if he was about to find out.

Finally, Anakin managed to say a single, shaky word: “Electricity.”

Yes. That confirmed theories one, two, and three. Dooku’s favorite torture method taken to a whole new level.

“Electricity?” Dr. Bhel confirmed. “Can you elaborate at all?”

Anakin reached up and pointed to his temple. He stuttered, “They used it – to – to erase....” Then he cut himself off and clamped his jaw shut.

Dr. Bhel nodded in dawning understanding. “In order to cause the damage they did, they must have done it periodically over time. Is that correct?” Anakin squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. Obi-Wan’s heart was pounding so hard he thought it might burst through.

“That explains much of it,” Dr. Bhel said, getting up and pulling her chair back behind her desk. “See, the problem with treating brain injuries is that each one is as unique as each brain. Sometimes it astounds me, but millions of years of scientific studies behind us and there isn’t a single discovered species of life of which we fully and completely understand the brain. Humans are, I’m afraid, no exception.”

She then typed some words into her datapad and a moment later pulled a diagram of the human brain to the screen on her wall. “As you know,” she said, “Different parts of the brain control different functions. Over here” – she pointed toward the middle of the diagram – “Is where memory tends to be stored. That, then, is the easy part, because we know for a fact that this part of you has been purposely damaged. Despicable, but true. The more complicated question, therefore, is what residual effects did that damage have, and how do we help it?”

Dr. Bhel stared at the diagram for a moment, considering, and then looked at them. “Here’s where the problem is. As I said, we know that this part of the brain has been injured. But you see, both migraines and seizures can have a number of different causes. Migraines tend to be caused by changes in blood flow to certain areas of the brain, and seizures by heightened electrical activity within the brain. But then, there are different _types_ of each of these, and on top of this we also have to address your emotional trauma, as well.”

For a moment, she put her hand to her chin, thinking. Then, she said, “I think it would be best if we start with a brain scan. There is no way for me to know exactly what’s going on unless we can actually see the damage that’s been done. We can do it tonight, if it’s all right with you.”

Obi-Wan looked sideways at Anakin, who muttered in the smallest voice, “Whatever you want.”

Dr. Bhel nodded, and stood at once. “Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go inform the technicians and be back as soon as I can.”

She left the room, and Obi-Wan saw Anakin visibly relax. He wondered what was going on inside his friend’s head, but didn’t ask. Anakin seemed content to ruminate inside his own thoughts, so Obi-Wan stayed silent. It must have been ten minutes later when Dr. Bhel returned.

“All right,” she said, “We’re all ready for you. The technicians could explain better than I how the machine works, but I can assure you that you won’t feel a thing. It should only take about a minute or two, and we’ll be able to look at the results shortly after. Ready?”

Anakin took a few deep breaths, and then got up, keeping close to Obi-Wan as they followed the doctor out of the room and down a hall. Every part of his body seemed to be clenched tight as if to form a shield around himself. His arms were drawn in close around him as if he were out in the snow. Obi-Wan, as usual, tried to send out a soothing pulse through their Force connection, the same one they had reactivated just this afternoon. He truly hoped it would help. Anakin needed this. _He_ needed this.

They entered a room near which Obi-Wan saw a sign for the medbay’s ‘Bioscans and Imaging Center’, somewhere he had been to himself many times – enough concussions and fractures as a result of the war tended to necessitate that. They rounded a corner, then entered another room which was occupied by two other people, a collection of non-threatening medical scanning equipment, and the cushioned table on which a patient would typically lay during the test....

Something was already... _off_ , in the Force, and Obi-Wan had a guess as to what it was; when he happened to turn around the precise moment the door hissed shut behind them, and saw Anakin flinch visibly and then collapse back against the wall, his suspicion was confirmed. Anakin was looking all around, his eyes flicking from one piece of equipment to the next, his breathing suddenly shallow, rushed, uneven –

Obi-Wan looked, only a little frantic, to Dr. Bhel, who had a strange look on her face. She waved for the technicians to leave the room through another door. Anakin was sitting on the floor now, pressing himself back against the wall as if he were trying to squeeze through the solid metal surface, and both Dr. Bhel and Obi-Wan knelt down to be at his level.

He hated himself for it, but Obi-Wan hadn’t the faintest clue what to do or say, so he let Dr. Bhel make the first move. “Anakin,” she said very gently, “I _promise_ that no one here is going to hurt you. You’re not in any danger.”

Anakin squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head toward his chest. Dr. Bhel seemed, despite all her worldly knowledge, totally unprepared for this. She said, “Perhaps if I left you alone. I’m going to go get you a private room.” She nodded at Obi-Wan, and left.

Obi-Wan made an effort to keep a respectful distance. “Anakin,” he said, leaning in only a bit. “It’s all right. We’re alone now. Please, look at me.” Anakin raised his head. He was shaking uncontrollably, his eyes wide as he stared into Obi-Wan’s own. The Force was drenched in panic, and fear hung thick in the air around him. They were all alone in the room, and Obi-Wan was determined to keep Anakin’s attention on him.

“I need you to focus on your breathing,” Obi-Wan said softly. He took a long breath in and another out, modeling it. “Try to match mine. If you can do that, everything else will follow.”

Anakin nodded, frantic, trying to obey. When it grew shallow again, Obi-Wan repeated himself. “Breathe,” he said. “Can I take your hand?” His friend’s eyes flicked downward, and then nodded again, and Obi-Wan took Anakin’s human hand and held it firm.

Between his breaths, with tears slipping down his cheeks, Anakin whispered, “I don’t want...to forget again....” He grimaced. For just a moment, the Force flashed with cold.

“You won’t,” Obi-Wan said. He massaged Anakin’s hand with his thumb. “Remember where you are? The Jedi Temple, where you came to be safe. I am going to keep you safe, Anakin.”

“Please,” was all Anakin could say.

It was a short while before Anakin’s breathing finally did manage to even out. Eventually, Obi-Wan asked softly, “Do you want to get out of here?” Anakin nodded, and gave his permission for Obi-Wan to gently wrap one of his arms around Anakin’s shoulders to help him up. Then, he Forced open the door, and waiting patiently for them outside was a young Twi’lek. She bowed.

“Maser Jhassar has requested I show you to a room,” she said, and then led them back out the way they had come. The whole way, Anakin was clamped to Obi-Wan’s arm like it was his only lifeline.

“Please let us know if you need anything,” the Twi’lek said, before leaving them alone in their designated room. Obi-Wan saw Anakin take a minute to familiarize himself with these new surroundings, and then helped him over to the bed, where Anakin pulled the covers around him tight and Obi-Wan sat in the bedside chair.

They stayed that way for a long time, Anakin with a blanket cocooned around himself like a barrier between him and the outside world, Obi-Wan sitting quietly and waiting for his friend to find calmness. They both waited, and waited, and then finally Anakin managed to say something. And that something was: “I killed people.”

“I know.”

“No,” Anakin said, shaking his head. “No, you don’t. I killed them. I – murdered them. I don’t even know how many. But I did.”

Obi-Wan tightened his grip on his friend’s human hand. “And what if you hadn’t? Sidious would have tortured you until you couldn’t fight him anymore, or until he killed you himself.”

“But,” Anakin whispered, “But wouldn’t that have been better? If he had just killed me? Why couldn’t he have just done that in the first place? Wouldn’t we all have been better off?”

“You’re thinking about it from your perspective now, not from back then,” Obi-Wan said, reaching up to smooth Anakin’s hair back. His hand paused a moment to brush a new set of tears off his friend’s cheeks. “You responded to these horrible experiences by surviving the only way you could. It’s what anyone would have done.”

Anakin looked at him. “You wouldn’t have.”

“There is no way to know that,” Obi-Wan said, gentle but firm. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of in order to survive. What matters to me isn’t what you did under threat of torture, but how hard you fought to get away. You escaping from them was the greatest testament to your strength that I could ever need.”

His friend shook his head again, this time more insistently, so that locks of hair fell into his face. “I could’ve gotten away sooner.”

“You are _not_ the villain here, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, taking both of Anakin’s hands in his own. “Don’t listen to anyone who says otherwise. _Sidious_ did this to you. He wants you to think this is your fault. You can’t let him have that victory over you.”

“’S hard,” Anakin choked out, holding onto Obi-Wan’s hands now as if they were his last hope at remaining linked to this world.

“I know,” Obi-Wan whispered, wishing he had more to say, but unsure what ‘more’ might entail. Sure, there were things, things in his mind that flew around like electrons in their cloud, going too fast to collide and form a coherent thought. Strings of advice that he wished he could give, and felt that he should, but knew all the same how anti-Jedi they all were.

But, Obi-Wan thought, as he looked down at Anakin, who still held onto Obi-Wan’s hands as if he would be pulled from gravity and sucked into the vacuum of space if he let go, his eyes squeezed shut against nothing but his own pain – maybe that was just it. Maybe the thing that Anakin really did need was – was what Obi-Wan had told Padmé during that sunset café rendezvous. Love....

Anakin didn’t need Obi-Wan to treat him like a Jedi. Anakin _wasn’t_ a Jedi. Not now. What Anakin _was_ , however, besides a friend and family member and loving partner, was a vulnerable man who had faced death too many times in too short a lifetime. Who had escaped enslavement twice, each time worse than the last. Who was always there when someone needed him to be. Who loved so deeply, and who had always expected and needed to be loved just as intensely in return.

Carefully prying his left hand out of Anakin’s mechno, Obi-Wan moved to the edge of the bed, gently pulling Anakin in closer to him. Anakin seemed to melt into him, reclaiming his hand and instead twisting it in Obi-Wan’s tunic, placing his head high on Obi-Wan’s chest. Anakin curled in on himself against Obi-Wan, his shuddering gasps gradually turning to breathy sobs, as Obi-Wan folded his arms around his friend, securing him there, feeling Anakin’s shaky weight press them both into the soft pillows and sheets.

“It’s all right,” Obi-Wan whispered into Anakin’s hair, feeling hot tears wetting his collar, sliding down his neck. He felt his own eyes sting. The Force was lit up like an explosion and he tried not to flinch. “Don’t hold anything back. Just let it out.”

* * *

In the haze of the next morning, they didn’t say anything to each other, but they didn’t need to. Anakin seemed drained, more complacent, similar to how he appeared after a seizure, and was content to sink back into his pillows and wait for time to start passing again. Obi-Wan sat quietly beside him, eating a light breakfast after Anakin had declined one, trying to think of how they would proceed from here.

After not too long, the doctor from the previous evening poked her head in through the door.

“You’re awake – may I?” she said, and Obi-Wan gestured her in. She looked at Anakin and smiled. “How are you feeling?” Anakin just shrugged, and wouldn’t meet her eyes. She pulled over a chair and sat near Obi-Wan, who put aside the empty tray and almost unconsciously reached for Anakin’s hand. It was the metal one, so Anakin didn’t seem to mind the contact.

“I’ll be to the point,” Dr. Bhel said. “I understand if you’re hesitant to move forward after last night, but I would like to know if you might be willing to try again.” She paused, looking at both men. “Now, I’ve spoken with another member of the healing staff, Dr. Broca, who has a particular interest in psychology. Since the war started escalating, she has spent less time practicing Force healing and more working with the Jedi with certain mental health issues that tend to have a stigma within the Jedi Order. It wasn’t her main field of study while she was in training, there is no other in the temple as qualified to diagnose and treat trauma-related mental illnesses. The only other option would be seeing a therapist outside of the temple, but, well...”

She cut off for a moment, looking somewhat flushed. “But I believe that because of the extenuating circumstances of your case – meaning, well, the involvement of the Sith – I just don’t think the Jedi Council would approve of outside counseling in this situation.”

Obi-Wan glanced down at Anakin, who was staring, expressionless, out the window. “Is that something you would be willing to do, Anakin?” At the sound of his name, Anakin looked back at Obi-Wan. He shrugged again, halfhearted.

“We don’t want to pressure you into it,” Dr. Bhel said, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but wonder who the _we_ in that sentence was supposed to be. “It’s certainly atypical for a Jedi to go to therapy. But medications and the Force can only go so far when most of the damage exists in memories.”

“Or lack thereof,” Anakin murmured.

“Indeed,” she said, looking sympathetic. “It would be a journey, and a learning experience for the both of you. But without her help – that is, without any sort of therapy – then your recovery could likely come to a standstill. It’s amazing how much talking things out can really help.”

Obi-Wan rubbed his beard with his free hand. “What do you plan to do about the physical symptoms?”

“That,” Dr. Bhel said apologetically, “Is where the brain scan comes in. I absolutely do not feel comfortable giving any firm diagnosis without first looking at everything available to us, and I can’t give you any medications without a diagnosis. _And_ , without medications, the migraines and the seizures are going to continue to be as crippling and painful as they were from day one. We _need_ to do a brain scan.”

She fell into silence, and both she and Obi-Wan looked down at Anakin for a response. After a minute, Obi-Wan shook the metal hand just a bit. “Anakin?”

Anakin bit his lip, thinking, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“So will you let us give you a brain scan?” Dr. Bhel asked gently, leaning in.

There was another long pause. Obi-Wan could see the same cloudy fear in Anakin’s eyes, and could feel the same thing in the Force. Nevertheless, Anakin gave a slow and thoughtful nod, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel himself buzz with pride.

It went smoothly, this time. Anakin was still tense, anxious, but managed to keep his cool during the brief procedure. When they went to take blood, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, waiting for it to end. When they went over the pills they wanted him to try, he nodded, not really listening, so they addressed Obi-Wan directly, instead.

And finally, it was over. They were back to their quarters by early afternoon, with Anakin agreeing to come back to meet a counselor – mostly, Obi-Wan thought, so he could get out as soon as he could. Anakin retreated into his room, and Obi-Wan let himself relax with a cup of tea, unable to think of anything other than how _relieved_ he was.

Everything was going to clear up. Everything was going to be better. He didn’t know it to be true, but...he had faith. Faith in Anakin, and faith in the will of the Force. And that was enough.

* * *

“I’ll be honest, Obi-Wan,” Mace said, staring pensive through the blinds of Yoda’s windows with his elbows on his knees, “I cannot make sense of why you’re doing this. What is it that makes you want to dedicate your entire life to Skywalker for the second time over?”

It was two days after the eventful trip to the medbay, and Obi-Wan stared at Mace like he had never seen him before. “ _I’ll_ be honest, Master,” he replied coolly, “I fail to see how anyone who has trained a Padawan could possibly need to ask that question.”

“Masters do not equate to parents,” Mace said, raising an eyebrow at him. “It’s no longer your responsibility to care for Skywalker as you had to years ago. If ever there was a time for you to finally let him go, it would be now.” He sighed. “But as usual, you’ve done the opposite.”

Obi-Wan looked at the floor. “I do not regret the choices that I have made.”

Mace paused, then said, “If you’re trying to atone for any mistakes you think you made with him in the past, there’s no reason to do so. He doesn’t remember you, and he possibly never will.”

“My caring for my Padawan is not based on what he can give me in return,” Obi-Wan said. “Mace, if you don’t understand now, then you never will. I’m not doing this because I feel the need to. I’m doing it because I want to, and it is as simple as that.”

“And if he gets worse?” Mace questioned. “Are you prepared to commit to him so fully?”

Obi-Wan thought about that for a moment, but truthfully he need not. The answer was, he already had committed himself, completely and entirely. And no, he thought, he would not take back a single day, given the chance. “Respectfully, Master, I will not abandon him to the will of the Council, no matter how long this process takes.”

Finally, Yoda opened his eyes. “Careful you must be, Obi-Wan,” he said slowly. “In a dark place, Skywalker is. To darker places yet, he may go. Affect even you, it could, if loosen your attachment to him you do not.”

But the thing was, Obi-Wan thought, that despair, that prevailing veil of darkness already _had_ affected him. It still was, and it would continue to, indefinitely. But if he stopped now, then Anakin would be left in the darkness, alone, left to his own devices and...he hated to even imagine it, but back into the hands of the Sith. Obi-Wan would, quite honesty, give his life before he gave Anakin to the dark.

“Have you ever thought,” he said, distant, to Yoda and Mace, “Whether attachment itself may be the will of the Force? That the reason it is so hard to let go is because we’ve got it all wrong?”

Mace looked at him with something in his eyes that, in the murky light, was not quite irritation. “The Jedi Order has flourished for over a thousand years because of our principles. The Jedi themselves hold discipline in the highest esteem, and it is with that discipline which we vanquish our attachment.”

“The Order is not flourishing, Mace,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “We’re generals in an army that the galaxy does not approve of. You hear it every day; the public does not believe in us as they once did. The Jedi have stagnated but the galaxy has move on. The Force itself is changing. The Sith adapted to that, but we haven’t. How else could they have resurfaced without us having any clue at all until they personally revealed themselves to us?”

He leaned over and ran a hand over his beard. “Ahsoka had said something to me, months ago. That the Jedi instruct their young to release their attachments, but they don’t say _how._ I had never thought about it, but she’s right. We repeat the mantra, release your anger, your fear, your attachment, through meditation and discipline, and while that works for a great many of us, the fact is that not every Jedi seems to be able to put it into practice, which gives the Sith every advantage over us. We ship out Jedi that have not been fully trained in either the Force or their own emotions, and as a result we have now have need for a trauma counselor in the healing ward.” He took a sharp breath to steady himself. “Anakin was twenty years old when we first sent him out to war. Ahsoka was _fourteen._ How much longer until all the adults have been killed and we have an army exclusively comprised of Padawans that have not been adequately trained in our antiquated rituals?”

“Our predecessors defeated the Sith once using the principles that we stand by now,” Windu said, his brow bone frowning more than his mouth. “The Sith have many advantages over us, but our tradition is not one. What you call ‘antiquated rituals’ _will_ lead the galaxy to peace once again. Otherwise we might as well have stopped trying long ago.”

“Ideas can’t change the galaxy, Master,” Obi-Wan countered. “Only the actions of individuals can do that. You can say that we will have peace as many times as you’d like but that doesn’t make it any more true. This war is tearing the galaxy apart and it is our duty to end it. Perhaps it is only cynicism but I do not believe that we can do what you say we can in our present state.

“Unfortunate are the circumstances of war, but much choice we do not have,” Yoda said, looking weary. “Time it is not to make these changes you seek. Not now, not during this war. In the future, maybe, but agree with Master Windu I do, that we must let the Force show us a way to peace.”

Obi-Wan had to fight the urge to clench his fists, and his jaw. “Mace, Master Yoda, you know how much respect I have for the both of you, but sometimes....” He sighed, sharply. “Some _day_ , you might try opening your eyes and looking _outside_ the Force for answers. And preferably sooner, rather than later, or we might just give up our only chance.” With that, pushing himself to his feet, he left the room and wondered if he had overstepped his bounds.

Just this once, though...he found that he simply didn’t much care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Biiiiiiig shoutout to everyone who was kind enough to comment last time! I do apologize about the wait, and I hope no one thought I was gone for good! I'd lost interest in Star Wars for a short time, but things are returning to normal after I watched a bunch of panels of Celebration Orlando, lol. So, thank you everyone from the bottom of my heart!


	22. Interlude

And now, a summary of how Padmé (Naberrie) Amidala’s life is going right now.

She’s sitting in a committee meeting, as she has been for about two hours and forty-three minutes. There are exactly seventeen minutes left of today’s discussion, and they have accomplished precisely...nothing.

She looks around the table. The Committee for Peace Negotiations has moved their gathering locale since the first meeting; they now sit evenly spaced around a large, round table in a large, round room. Each delegate has their own space cluttered with datapads, spare pieces of flimsi, and long-cold cups of caf. In the center of the table hovers a hologram of a space station, an option for where they might hold the peace conference. And that’s a very gentle _might_ , because by now Padmé has lost count of how many space stations they’ve seen diagrams of. Big ones, small ones, short ones, tall ones, she feels like someone borrowed a book from their child and brought it for show and tell. And she gets the very real, persistent idea that the two committee members who put together this presentation are _stalling_. It is almost as if the two people who profited the most from the war of anyone here, don’t want to get anything accomplished.

Respectfully, Padmé holds her tongue. There are fifteen minutes left now, and if she were to bring up anything now it would never get approval. The others would say, oh we’ll table that for next time, and when the next time actually came around it would have become stale and they would say, oh we covered that last time. So she will wait. She will be passive. Patient. She will bide her time. And two days from now, at the next meeting, she will bring to the (large, round) table a thirteen-point plan for the relocation of refugees to the participating planets that have sufficient resources and the space to hold them. And when she does that, they will listen. She will have their undivided attention.

The meeting is over. She goes home. Changes into something comfortable, flowing, loose. Lets her hair down, removes her makeup. Lounges back and checks her private messages. Calls her sister, talks briefly. The kids, Pooja and Ryoo, are doing well in school. Pooja still wants to be senator like Aunt Padmé, but Aunt Padmé hopes Pooja will change her mind the way six year olds do. She doesn’t want her niece’s adorable curly-haired innocence and good faith in people to be lost to the vicious politicians in the capital.

When the call is over, she yawns. Stretches. It’s not late, but she’s tired. Tomorrow she needs to work on her presentation. Right now, she will let her twenty-seven-year-old-but-feels-older body rest. Because she takes care of herself now. She has to. Or else....

* * *

 

They’ve already covered plenty of points. When they have their meetings every other day, they fine-tune what they will present to the Separatists. It’s amazing and disappointing, she thinks, how much time they need to prepare a suggestion of armistice. But their relationship with the Confederate government is more rocky than an asteroid field, and so they will take as long as they need.

They have made good progress. They know where the conference will be held (having settled upon one of the space stations in the last five minutes of the last meeting). They know how many delegates will be permitted to attend on each side. They know that it will be five days long. And five days isn’t nearly enough to do what they need to do, Padmé knows, but she is willing to yield the military and safety considerations to those that know more about that type of thing.

They have agreed that the Jedi will be necessary for protection, but what surprises Padmé is how long they took to reach that conclusion. She pitches in, says that the Jedi are an integral part of the Republic and far outmatch any other guard forces that they could find. As usual, she receives sneers to her face, snide comments that she is too friendly with the Jedi and trusts them too much. She retorts, respectfully, that she is close with the Jedi because she has worked with them many times, a pleasure which most at this table have not had. She does not add that she is close friends with two and married to one. She also does not add that of _course_ the Jedi are necessary for the conference because the leader of the entire Confederacy is a Sith.

Finally, it is Padmé’s moment to speak. Each member here is given one chance to speak uninterrupted, and this is hers. She will put it to good use.

Padmé’s goal here, she thinks, is to trick these rich, immoral, credit-loving diplomats into thinking there is something in it for them. She thinks that she can do this, but she doesn’t know for sure.

“Of course,” she says, continuing her speech which has already been going on for some time, “There will be incentives for these planets to accept and care for the refugees. We will be prepared to offer tax cuts to governments and organizations that assist in our program. The departments that had their budgets cut eleven months ago during the Wartime Budgetary Reallocation Act will have their credit flow redirected back to those original departments once it is no longer necessary that those credits go towards military spending. That is, as soon as the fighting has stopped and no later. It is absolutely critical that this change in credit flow occur immediately, because the necessities that the refugees require are just that – that without which they cannot survive. Food, clean water, healthcare, places to stay unconditionally until they are able to return to their homes. These things shouldn’t even have to be said, but the truth is that without incentives, the planets reluctantly housing these refugees will ignore all basic sense of the refugee’s rights in favor of their own profit. Therefore, it is our job to make sure that these incentives are good enough for the planets and organizations, and that the refugee relief efforts will actually be followed through to conclusion.”

The real problem, she thinks, is that none of these diplomats have a vested interest in helping the refugees. Try as she might, and as she has for years, she can’t convince anyone that _everyone_ gifted with sentient life deserves to have their basic rights honored. What should be so obvious, so innate, has been absent in all of these committee members from the start. Bail excluded, of course.

“Out of curiosity,” Lott Dod interrupted, “How much longer is this going to take? Some of us would like to get on to discussing more...important matters.”

Padmé squares her shoulders, makes her own tiny body appear taller. “Representative, with all due respect, while you and I have been busy legislating, there are billions of people in thousands of star systems that are _dying_. You may not see them, you may not be around them, but they exist. In fact – how about I show you.”

She presses a few buttons on her console, and a three dimensional holograph appears at the center of the table. With sick satisfaction, she hears at least three gasps. Floating before them, rotating so everyone can see, dead bodies. Blue, transparent bodies of people who are most certainly dead. She zooms out. It’s an entire town, but there is not much _town_ left. Just smoke, ruined buildings, and dead bodies.

“Senator, please,” says a blue-haired representative named Milnar Peeq from Totogon Beta. “This is horrific, and inappropriate.”

Padmé changes the picture. It’s a battleground, and it reminds her personally of Geonosis. There are clones and droids firing at each other and civilians running for safety in the background. She had asked Obi-Wan for something like this, and he delivered.

“Senator!” Peeq cries again, looking away. Padmé stares around the table.

“Absolutely I agree, Representative Peeq. This _is_ horrifying. And short of ending the war, there may be nothing we can do it stop it. But what we can do, and what we _must_ do, is give these people a chance at recovering. And it’s not even just basic living rights – its economics. We give these people the resources to rebuild their communities, and they repay the galaxy at large by producing, trading, exporting, building, learning, educating, and helping others in turn. Our goal with this peace conference is to end the war, and it would be simply foolish to not at least _begin_ to account for what happens after the war is actually ended. Everything we are doing here is a smaller piece of what is going to help this galaxy bounce back from this financially devastating intergovernmental crisis. _Everything_ , including what I’m talking about here today. If our proposal to the Separatists does not include points which account for the people that we’re supposed to be governing, then we’re not doing our job well enough, and that is not negotiable.”

There is silence in the room. Some of the haughty expressions mock her, while others are thoughtful. Bail is smiling. Padmé sits down, not allowing her interior trepidation and lingering pessimism to show outwardly. The diplomats take a few moments to gather themselves and the next member stands to give their presentation.

But all is not lost, Padmé thinks. Because for once – for the first time in a very long time – she has gotten the final word.

She only suppresses _most_ of her grin. About eighty-five percent.

This is a day in queen, senator, diplomat Padmé’s life. And it’s a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! I just want to mention that Padmé’s whole speech thing is intended to be as impossible as it is. I read a lot of stuff during college clogged with dense academic jargon, and I think it’s really fun to channel that. I’m talking about paragraphs you can read ten times but never understand. Scholars get away with it constantly and its maddening.
> 
> Also, despite proofreading a hundred times I’m sure there are spots where I slipped out of present tense. I just really felt like this interlude chapter needed to be Different somehow.
> 
> Also also, I really love hearing from you guys so much! I don’t usually respond but I read everything, usually more than once, so don’t be shy!
> 
> I will try VERY hard to have the next chapter out before the end of the year. It’s mostly done and mostly fun! Thanks!


	23. 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know about you, but this chapter is 22! Yea this chapter is named after the TSwift song, because Anakin is 22 in this universe and I am 22 in OUR universe. Happy holidays and new year, everyone!!!

When Ahsoka was called one day to a Council-led strategy meeting, and found out that in three days, she and Obi-Wan would be shipped out to a planet called Rydonia, she was surprisingly disappointed. Apparently, Master Mundi said, there was some kind of Separatist fiasco (her words) that was sure to escalate into a full-scale battle any second, and he needed backup. As it were, out of an order of _ten thousand_ Jedi – Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were the only ones available. Suuuuure.

If she was unhappy about going, however, Obi-Wan was dramatically more so.

“They didn’t even tell me beforehand,” he was saying as they marched through the temple halls, hopefully out of earshot of any potential eavesdroppers. His strides were long, and Ahsoka had to shuffle to keep up. “Were they not the ones who put me on the Council? Or have they just decided to pick and choose when they want me to be a master and when they don’t?”

Despite herself, Ahsoka couldn’t help but snicker. Obi-Wan skid to a halt and wheeled around to face her. “What could _possibly_ be funny?”

“Nuh-thing,” she said, drawing out the first syllable, giggling. “You just sound a lot like Anakin.”

Obi-Wan clapped a hand to his forehead. “Anakin. _What_ am I going to do about Anakin?”

“He’s gotten better,” Ahsoka said, though truthfully she felt the same as he did. She didn’t want to leave him alone. Honestly, it wasn’t really fair – she had practically begged Master Yoda himself to send her out there just a few weeks ago and was refused time after time. So why now?

“I know he has, but...,” Obi-Wan said, looking off into the distant horizon through a window. He looked like he had more to say, but instead he trailed off, left the thought hanging.

They told Anakin right away, and he reacted by going, “Oh,” and looking down at the ground like he was trying to figure out all the planet’s secrets.

Ahsoka left the room while Obi-Wan tried to assuage any doubts or fears (though, judging by the way Anakin felt in the Force, Ahsoka actually thought that Obi-Wan might be the one more afraid) and later, Anakin came to sit with her, collapsing back into the couch and appearing deep in thought.

The thought of going back into battle was actually kind of...odd. A little surreal. It had been the most natural part of her life for years on end, the cannon fire and endless barrage of blaster bolts and smoke and dead bodies. So why, now, did it feel so strange to think she would be there again? Why did she feel so thrown off, unprepared? Why was she so _nervous?_

It was only after a reasonable time quasi-meditating on her feelings that she decided she didn’t want to just sit around and read preparatory datapads with every tiny bit of information on everything that had ever happened on Rydonia. And _yes_ , she _would_ do that, at some point, but right now, she decided, it was time to have some _fun._

And she knew someone who needed a little fun....

“Hey,” she said casually, knocking Anakin out of his own thoughtfulness. He looked sideways over at her. “Do you...want to go to the zoo?”

It took a full five seconds before he reacted by scrunching up his nose. “What?”

She turned to him. “I don’t want to leave you here alone, but when it comes to Council decisions, there really isn’t any negotiation. In other words, we pretty much _have_ to go. It’s probably going to be miserable for everyone, so I figured, why not do something fun first, right? So what do you think? Do you want to go to the zoo?”

His eyes flicked around the room, as if he thought this was a hallucination or something. He thought for another ten seconds or so, then finally looked back at her and said, “...Okay.”

And that was how, bright and early the next morning, they met in a hangar bay at oh-eight-hundred hours, in front of a shiny red speeder with nothing but some credits in Ahsoka’s belt pockets and Obi-Wan’s blessing to “Stay safe, have fun, and _be careful!”_

At first, this whole excursion seemed so unlikely that they stared at the speeder without really having a clue how this day was going to go. “So...,” she said slowly. “Do...you want to fly?”

For a brief moment, he looked about to say yes, longingly staring at the enclosed collection of machinery. Then, he raised his hand to the back of his head and said, “They said I’m not supposed to fly for a few months at least. Because of, you know...the seizures.”

“Oh,” Ahsoka said, with so much blood rushing into her face from the embarrassment, suddenly regretting everything she’d ever said and done, ever. Really, she felt _so_ bad – Skyguy _loved_ to fly. It was literally part of his name. And, like, what even were the odds of that? “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Anakin shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to him (she knew it did) and got into the passenger seat. “Don’t worry about it.”

Ahsoka hopped in the pilot’s seat, and started it up, ashamed. “How, um...how long has it been so far?”

“I think about a month,” he said, looking far off into the distance, averting his eyes.

“Oh.”

What a great start to the day. _Not._

She started up the speeder and they made their way, obeying traffic laws like good citizens, not taking advantage (as she could, if she wanted to, which she kind of did) of the Jedi privilege of going really fast. It took an hour to travel two thousand klicks away – there were closer zoos, but she would settle for nothing less than the ones that treated their animals the best. When they arrived, she was suddenly really excited. How often did a Jedi get to spend their day staring at cute animals? Not enough!

She paid their admission and they started walking around, looking at animals and reading signs with facts on them. They went to different exhibits and buildings, and Ahsoka had to admire the sheer space and environment that these animals had, each specifically designed for their biology. Considering the different biomes of the thousand planets these animals came from, and the different levels of atmospheric pressure and gases and gravity and pollution, it was really remarkable how each animal seemed to feel right at home.

They walked around for a while, eventually stopping for refreshments in the rainforest area. Ahsoka sipped her drink while watching the meerca in the enclosure next to their table. “So,” she said casually, “What do you think of Padmé?”

In the corner of her eye, she saw Anakin glance over at her. “I don’t really know her.”

“But she’s nice, right? And pretty?”

She wasn’t that great in noticing those subtle changes in human skin tone that they always pointed out on holodramas (“You’re blushing!” “No, I’m not!” “Yes, you are, you _like_ him!” Humans were so petty.) but she thought his cheeks went a little redder than normal. He said, “Yeah, I guess she is.”

Ahsoka said, “And she’s really dedicated to her job. She’s been a public servant forever, and she’s only, like, twenty-seven. She’s incredible.”

Anakin dropped his chin in his hand. “You’re real subtle.”

She shrugged, suppressing a grin. “Don’t know what you mean. I’m just telling the truth. For instance, did you know that Padmé has managed to raise over a million credits for refugee camps on Naboo through fundraising and networking? She sure is great.”

Anakin had something like half a twisted smile on his face, looking down at his hands. “I know what you’re trying to do. I guess it just – well....” He trailed off.

“Go ahead,” Ahsoka prodded, relieved her little ploy actually managed to get them somewhere. Very, extremely relieved, actually, because Anakin _never_ opened up. Therapy must have been working wonders.

“I feel like I should feel differently about her than I actually do,” he said, drumming his fingers absentmindedly on the metal wire table. “I mean, I should be mad, right? Because, you know, she kinda.... But I’m not, and I don’t know why, because anyone else would be.”

“You can’t really know that,” Ahsoka said. “Just because, I mean, no one else has ever been in a situation like yours. Only you can really know how you feel, and feelings are never wrong or right, they depend on how we interpret them.”

Anakin looked at her, his eyebrows slightly raised. “That was kinda deep.”

She snickered. “I had to study psychology last year. It was really boring.”

He smirked. “She gave me this handwritten letter of an apology, but I haven’t gotten myself to read it yet.”

“Are you afraid of what it might say?”

“I guess.”

Ahsoka watched the meerca gallop around its enclosure for a moment before saying, “I can’t speak for her, but...she really didn’t want to do...it. You know.” He nodded, eyes foggy and distant. She wondered if he remembered the ‘it’. “Padmé is kind of that rare person who is so selfless you’re like, can she even be real? But she _is_ and that’s what makes her so amazing. I mean, I’ve only known her for maybe two years but whenever I’m with her she’s always talking about things like social welfare and ending the war, and political stuff that I don’t really understand. Like, people have tried to assassinate her way too many times but she just keeps doing even more radical and progressive things.” Ahsoka cleared her throat, realizing she was rambling. “I just really look up to her.”

Across from her, Anakin was chewing on his lip. “Can I tell you something kind of embarrassing? I found all these holos in my room of, well...her,” he said, lamely. “Senate speeches and press conferences and stuff. Some of them are from ages ago...I may not remember her, but I do know that I liked her...a lot....”

“I would hope so,” Ahsoka said, trying to make light of the topic. His face had fallen, blanked, when he mentioned his memory loss, but she didn’t want him to feel sad. “You married her, after all.”

They sat in silence for a little while. Ahsoka noticed the thrumming hum of life in the Force, from him and from her and the people around them, from the meerca and the flora in its enclosure. It vibrated with calm serenity in a way that she’d scarcely felt since the start of the war. Just like them, all these civilians had come here to escape from the thought of war, from the persistent nagging thought that there were people out there who were dying and two governments that wouldn’t do anything about it. Across from her, Anakin was watching the clouds.

“I can’t tell you what to do,” Ahsoka said slowly, “But I think you should read that letter.” Anakin’s eyes slid down to her. “I mean, you’re gonna be thinking about it nonstop until you actually read it, right? And you’re going to avoid her until you do. And trust me, she’s the kind of person that you want to spend as much time with as possible. I know I do.”

“Maybe,” he said, resting his chin in his hand.

* * *

Near the end of their stay at the zoo, they bought what might have been considered a strange amount of stuffed animals for two people of their respective ages – hey, the sign said all proceeds went to protecting the remaining .97 percent landmass of Coruscant that actually wasn’t covered in city, which was a very Jedi thing to do, right? Which got her thinking about how crazy it was that this planet was actually _one whole city_ , which _then_ got her thinking about how many millions of species must have went extinct on this planet during those years of industrial development, which made her really glad after all that she had bought all these stuffed animals....

She was examining the extremely cute stuffed bantha Anakin had picked out (banthas were probably the only cute thing to ever come out of his dustbowl home planet, she thought) when he suddenly said something that may have sounded very peculiar coming from anyone else.

“Hey, uh...this is out of nowhere, but...sorry I tried to kill you that one time.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ahsoka saw the gray-haired head of a human woman swing around and look over towards them. Ahsoka just shrugged and said, “Hey, no hard feelings.”

“Really? Because I feel bad.”

“Nah. I get it.”

“Okay, well...sorry anyway. And, I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”

“Thanks. I’m glad we’re both alive.”

“Me too.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Ahsoka smoothed down the hair on the stuffed ogrin, thinking briefly that if she couldn’t be a Jedi, she would kind of want to be a farmer or endangered species breeder or exotic animal trainer or something. Then she asked Anakin if there were any more animals he wanted to see.

“I kind of want to go to the aquarium,” he said, looking at a map of the expansive, too-big-to-see-in-one-day zoo. Ahsoka squirmed in her seat with excitement and nodded.

Fish were so _cool._

* * *

Later, when they were seated snuggly across from each other in a cramped diner booth, waiting for her meaty dish and his spicy one to cool off, Ahsoka said, “Hey, can I ask you something?” He nodded. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but...what is the dark side like? The Jedi always tell you to avoid it at all costs, and I _get_ that, but...they never really tell you _why_ , or what it’s like.”

Anakin looked away, out the window at the pedestrians and speeders, and Ahsoka didn’t think he was going to answer so she awkwardly blew a bubble in her drink with the straw. It took a minute, but he spoke, and his voice sounded more somber than it had all day.

“It’s like you’re cold all the time,” he said, his eyes distant. “You have all this power over other people, but whenever you use it you hate yourself a little more. Which, I guess, is kind of the goal, because suddenly, one day, you realize that you don’t feel anything at all, anymore. Hurting people just becomes second nature. And you know you can never get out.”

He stared off at nothing for a while, until he finally seemed to snap out of his trance and looked at her. He said casually, as if nothing had changed, “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Ahsoka stirred her straw around the glass. “But you did get out.”

He looked away. “I guess.”

“’Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny,’” she said, echoing words she had heard her whole life. “That’s what Master Yoda always says, anyway.” Then she shrugged, and he shrugged back.

Looking at the table, Ahsoka said, “Do...do you still feel it? The dark side?”

She couldn’t tell from his expression if he didn’t have an answer, or had one but didn’t want to say it aloud. He just said, “I don’t know what I feel.”

They picked at their food, and Ahsoka wished she had never brought it up, or at least not here. She decided to change the subject to something that would almost definitely take their minds off the morose. “Do you...wanna have a speed eating contest?”

He stared at her for a moment, and then said, very seriously, _“Yes.”_

“Okay, go!” she exclaimed suddenly, and they dived into their dishes, much to the obvious disgust of the elderly Twi’lek couple at a nearby booth.

* * *

Padmé’s blue-filtered brown eyes narrowed somewhat playfully over the hologram. _“You need a favor? What kind of favor?”_

Ahsoka kicked at the ground, and kept her eyes wide and sincere and hopefully innocent. They were, technically, supposed to be back at the temple in an hour, but she was having so much fun she couldn’t bear the thought of this day actually ending, because if the day ended that meant it would be the next day, and the day after the next day was the day she had to leave. That was when she had concocted an...idea. “We just need you to, you know...lie to Obi-Wan for us that we’re staying overnight at your apartment.”

Padmé raised one of her eyebrows. _“While you do what, exactly?”_

It hadn’t turned out to be too complicated, actually. Ahsoka usually saved her monthly stipend, having nothing really to spend it on anyway – she only ate out every once and a while, and it was usually at cheapo food joints instead of real fancy places, and anything she generally bought offplanet was typically the Outer Rim kind of cheap in both design and price. Renting a small, two-person transport to Malastare in somewhat junky condition had only siphoned off about half of what she had saved up, which was when she realized how small Jedi allowances were, all things considered. But again, whatever – this was a special occasion, and there was absolutely, positively, no one else in the galaxy she would want to spend it on than Anakin.

Say, what had happened to his stipend savings when he....

Padmé, as it turned out, didn’t seem that enthusiastic about the idea of them going offplanet to see a podrace of all things, but she didn’t outright reject it, either. _“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. It’s not safe.”_

“It’ll only be for a day,” Ahsoka said. “You don’t have to do anything unless Obi-Wan calls you to check. I promise I’ll tell him everything when I get back, you don’t have to take the blame for anything.”

_“I can handle Obi-Wan,”_ Padmé said, crossing her arms with a small smile. _“It’s the other Force-sensitive people in the galaxy that I’m worried about.”_

“They won’t ever even know,” Ahsoka said, waving it off, pretending not to give it a second thought. She put on her cutest smile. “Besides...I already paid the rental fee.”

Padmé shook her head, smiling. _“Listen,”_ she said, glancing between Ahsoka and Anakin. _“I’ll cover for you, but I want you to comm me the moment you get there and when you’re coming back. I know it’s just a very illegal and dangerous race, but there are a lot of people in the galaxy who’d like to get both of you. Be careful.”_

“Thank you, Padmé!” Ahsoka said, the commlink on her arm shaking while she looked around at Anakin, who had a shy smile on his face.

“Yeah, thanks,” he echoed, and Padmé’s smile turned brighter as they exchanged a brief look that made Ahsoka feel a little warm inside and also a little confused.

_“Have fun,”_ Padmé said, _“And comm me!”_

Ahsoka waved and shut off the commlink before looking up at Anakin. “To Malastare, then?”

* * *

The purple-ish sand blew in their faces as high-speed pods chased each other down the racetrack. Malastare was hot, though not nearly as hot as Anakin’s home of Tatooine, which Ahsoka was distinctly grateful for. Ahsoka had pulled on her trusty goggles, but Anakin seemed impervious to the sand and dust and instead seemed to thrive in it, grabbing the metal railing of the stands in which they watched the podrace and leaning over it to watch the racers speed down the track.

Coming to Malastare was, hands down, no question, absolutely positively the best decision she had ever made. Obi-Wan, the Council, and the Sith be damned – it was worth every risk to see and feel the unbridled and absolutely pure, exhilarating joy that was emanating out of Anakin was he watched the race. It was a transformation from the sullen, stiflingly depressed trauma victim into someone with the boyish enthusiasm of the little kid from the desert that she had never known.

“Woah – did you _see_ that?” he shouted emphatically, his eyes following the pods as they zipped past, darting from one to another to take in as much as possible.

She laughed, and then coughed as she inhaled a mouthful of dust. “It was kind of impossible not to!” she choked out. Another few racers flew by and he turned to her, a heat rising in his face.

“I can’t believe I used to do this!” he yelled. “That’s so _wizard!_ ” Then he blinked, and looked at her, and said in a normal voice, “Uh – I don’t know where that came from.” She just punched his shoulder playfully and they went back to watching the race.

The pods made some maneuver that had the crowd screaming with heated enthusiasm and Anakin seemed to be absorbing their energy into him, siphoning off the excitement and demonstrating that he was in fact, by nature, an angry but thrilled Huttese-spewing Outer Rim native. “I could have done that better when I was _seven!”_ he shouted at the racers who obviously couldn’t possibly hear him. “And I’m a _human!”_

On the overhead screen, the leading racers were hurtling through the sparse trees of the forest that lay beyond the purplish plain. Anakin’s eyes were glued to it, his left hand knuckles white as they gripped the railing with anticipation. It was kind of hard to follow because the pods were moving so fast, but Ahsoka saw one of them make the slightest of turns to the right at the same time that the racer behind them accelerated and –

There was a _crash!_ sound that reverberated from the speakers and the screen lit up with orange fire, then smoke, and the crowd rose out of their seats with mingled cheers and screams so loud it just sounded like a deafening garbled static. Beside her, she barely heard Anakin utter something in a language that definitely wasn’t Basic and although Ahsoka could definitely admit that the energy of the crowd made it exciting, she couldn’t really figure out why seeing people crash and blow up was something worth cheering about.

When it was over and the screams of the crowd were dying down, Anakin put his hands to his face as if he couldn’t take it. “That was so wizard,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “ _Inkabunga_. That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” Finally he looked up at her, totally out of breath. “That was the best. _Hakee na tobo cootmalya._ Thank you so much, Snips.”

She froze, and gaped at him. “What?”

“I just said thanks, that was the best thing ever –”

“No, what did you call me?”

“Snips?” he said, and then he froze too, his eyes widening and his mouth falling open almost comically as he realized. “I called you Snips.”

“You called me Snips,” she repeated, dazed. They stood there gaping at each other like idiots while Malastare moved around them, and then at the same moment they broke out into breathless laughter and threw their arms around each other and hugged for what was probably a long time, at what was probably the weirdest place to be hugging like this.

When they broke apart, he had a wide grin on his face. “I don’t remember anything else,” he said, as if he needed to explain himself.

Ahsoka just shook her head and said, loudly over the din of the arena, “It doesn’t matter. Well, I mean – it doesn’t matter to me – well –”

“It’s okay,” he said, laughing. “I get it. Thanks. Snips _._ ”

Yup. Best day ever for _sure._

* * *

When they got home, second only to calling Padmé (“ _You, uh, should go find Obi-Wan,”_ she had said, in that tone that let Ahsoka know they were really in for it), they made their way through the halls of the temple, arms laden with stuffed animals, giggling so furiously that it was easy to ignore the disapproving looks from Jedi Knights and masters that they passed. When they reached Anakin and Obi-Wan’s suite, Anakin shifted the chubby stuffed bantha wedged under his left arm to press his palm to the keypad.

The first thing Ahsoka saw when the door opened was Master Kenobi, and she couldn’t help but almost burst out laughing even harder. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw locked in that (up)tight clench that he did when he was annoyed. He looked more ruffled than an avian would after being caught in a cyclone.

He cleared his throat, and shook a piece of hair out of his eyes. “What in the universe,” he said, quiet and emphasizing each word, “Could you two possibly have been thinking?”

“Master, it’s okay,” Ahsoka said. “We’re fine! We were fine!”

“You _are_ fine, yes, but there was no way for me to know that that was going to be the case, now was there?” He sounded hushed and harassed and like his blood pressure had probably hit an all time high.

“Obi-Wan, it’s okay,” Anakin said, sounding reassuring. “It was just a couple hours of fun.”

“I –” Obi-Wan said through clenched teeth, balling his fists. He closed his eyes for a short moment. “You know, I got this awful jolt through the Force when you went into hyperspace, and I thought – I _really_ thought that – I can’t even say it.” Suddenly, Ahsoka realized with a knot in her throat what he meant. She suddenly felt so, so bad. Obi-Wan’s voice was tight and restrained when he said, falsely calm, “Don’t you _ever_ do that to me again.”

Ahsoka looked down at the floor. It was so hard when he talked like this – he got very quiet and calm when he was angry. “I’m sorry, Master.” She only hoped it sounded as sincere as she meant it to. “I – I’m sorry.”

“I understand why you lied to me,” Obi-Wan said, voice barely above a whisper. “I know I can be restrictive and overbearing. But this was not all right, especially with the situation with the situation that _you_ are in, Anakin. You both knew better than this.”

Ahsoka didn’t look up, but she heard Anakin repeat, very quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan sighed, turned around, and headed back toward his room. He said, “I know,” and disappeared.

She looked up at Anakin, and realized how... _weird_ it was to be lectured (rightfully so, she admitted) while both standing with armfuls of stuffed critters. They had planned on keeping their favorites and donating the rest to some younglings. Wordlessly, Anakin shifted all but two into her arms, so that now her immediate area was forty percent Ahsoka and sixty percent stuffed animals. He waved at her, and she watched him walk back down the hall, gently place the brown toy tonu at the base of Obi-Wan’s door, and kept the bantha for himself.

Suddenly, she felt kind of empty. Like, she just didn’t know what to do now. But she couldn’t just stand here all night, thinking about how shameful and embarrassed she suddenly felt, and how she had been having the time of her life while Obi-Wan had been boiling in a stew of worry. Slowly, she walked out the door and down the hall, walking slowly and a little listlessly, arms laden with stuffed animals. It was a weird situation.

Then, as she approached her room, she looked up when she heard laughter. There was a small group of younglings, standing around in a circle and giggling over something. Fondly, Ahsoka remembered when she used to do that, hanging out with those in her youngling group and fawning over anything that came from outside the temple walls.

The giggling stopped when they all saw her coming. She walked up to them, dropped all but her favorite stuffed animal at their feet, and winked and put a finger up to her lips before retreating backwards into her room.

From inside, she thought...the cheers and excitement of those kids reminded her of Anakin at the podrace.

_Snips...._

Okay. Maybe not the best day EVER, but...pretty freaking close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally just used a fandom platform to advocate for animal conservation. What do you think Coruscant looked like before all the urban development?
> 
> Ok. Thanks for reading! I’m getting into Harry Potter fic again as well, if you’re into that I might be posting some of it in the future. All Marauder-era stuff. My old flame. If I hadn’t loved HP so much in middle school I never would have started writing. Shoutout to JKR.
> 
> Merry Christmas y’all! Thanks for sticking around. Next chapter has some soft, mostly-platonic Anidala and some more depressed Anakin (the best!). No estimated date of posting. Hope to see you then!


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